


La Chute De L'Manberg

by horseparkour



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Betrayal, Death, Dream SMP War, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Historical Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Minor Character Death, Multi, No Smut, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Set In Minecraft But Not Really, Shipping is not the focus, Swearing, The Romance Plot Is Secondary, Violence, War, this is a story about WAR basically so be careful because I'm not holding back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:01:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28473585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horseparkour/pseuds/horseparkour
Summary: This era was the Fallen Age, a year of empty pages in textbooks. It's a time of greed, a time of heartbreak, of loss and betrayal. And above all, it was a time for power.For one to conceptualize a time like this, it’s important to remember that history is an unreliable narrator. Many people went on many journeys during this time - each one important, each one difficult.At the end of the day, there is only one villain.Everyone else was simply doing what they needed to do.(A Reimagining of the Pogtopia War, Rated M for Fantasy Violence)
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Niki | Nihachu/Wilbur Soot, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 12
Kudos: 74





	1. Chapter One: A Cry For Help

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work of fiction, written about the fictional characters/personas in the Dream SMP universe. This is a retelling/reimagining of the Pogtopia war done in a politicial-fantasy-war style similar to Game of Thrones or any other mature fantasy series. 
> 
> All shipping or romance in this is fictional and is not to be taken as serious shipping of real people. These are their SMP characters only. There is no smut, and there will be no smut.
> 
> This story also includes MANY of my own headcanons, such as a reimagining of Wilbur's family tree and so on. Please know that these are just personal touches I added as an aspiring fantasy author to make the story flow better, make more sense or carry more weight.
> 
> Updates will be slow. Please be patient. Thank you.

**Un Appel à l’Aide**

_ A Cry For Help _

One of the only reasons we can cite the time of the true beginning of this war is all thanks to a tournament.

This tournament was, to put it lightly, one of the most important events of the greater half of the decade. In fact, many important things happened to be occurring at once - the great tournament, a foreign election, and a young boy’s birthday. They all were happening in one small week. Time could be funny like that - nothing happens for months and then suddenly the calendar is bursting with festivities and gatherings and good intentions.

If one is to look back on the story of this week, the timeline is muddled. Books were burnt and scrolls were thrown away and words left to be whispered under the cover of night. This era was the Fallen Age, a year of empty pages in textbooks. 

For one to conceptualize a time like this, it’s important to remember that history is an unreliable narrator. Many people went on many journeys during this time - each one important, each one difficult. Everyone acted as they believed they needed to. Everyone survived in their own way. Pride is a tool for cowards to tremble behind and cowardice is a mask for those who have honor in their blood. At the end of the day, there is only one villain. Everyone else was simply doing what they needed to do. 

And the tournament is the easiest place to start in a tale like this.

Far to the west of Dreamland, where the ocean touched the sky in the Kingdom of Sus, the National Swordsmanship Tournament was running smoothly under King Technoblade’s supervision. He had a heart for numbers. He wasn’t just a fair ruler, but an intelligent one. His mind was known before his face even was.

On one hand, that was intentional. Not everyone took him seriously when he entered his own name into a duel for the throne years ago when the previous king passed. He was smaller than most pigmen in the Kingdom of Sus. He was known as scrawny and thin and too academic for a situation as harsh as a swordfight. He used that archaic mindset to his advantage, though - and he won. His physical prowess was a hidden gift. 

And he used both gifts to craft the most regal tournament the land had seen in centuries.

Brackets were planned well in advance, all contestants were readily accounted for, and people from all over the land had come to pile into the stadiums to watch the spectacular displays of strength and precision play out. The air was electric, the energy was high, and the sky was blue. Even the weather seemed to be on King Technoblade’s side.

The tournament had already begun early that morning, swordsmen climbing and dropping in the brackets, the crowd going wild with every stab and swish and parry. Music was so loud that everyone had to shout to each other to get even small conversations across. 

And that didn’t exempt the royals.

King Technoblade did not hesitate to invite Lord Dream the Faceless, overseer of Dreamland, nor his right hand man Sir Sapnap of the Burning Oak. They were guests of honor, sitting next to the The Blade and breaking bread with him. It was only right - seeing how Technoblade defeated Lord Dream publicly just two season cycles ago.

The tournament was scheduled to last for the whole week, if not many more past, and that meant the royals were glued to their chairs that long as well. In order to occupy his own time, Dream had engaged himself in friendly conversation with the King himself, speaking of strategies and the display ahead of them. Meanwhile, Sir Sapnap entertained himself with the women - and the fresh food.

“The competition is good this year, I have to admit.” Dream said. He adjusted his mask to ward off the light of the sun. “Even the first-timers have skill.” He observed, glancing at the King for his input.

Technoblade’s snout wiggled in amusement. “You’re right. Does it make you nervous?”

“Nervous?” Dream scoffed. 

“About all the up-and-coming professionals.”

“Oh, please. I’m not afraid of new opponents.”

“I can’t imagine the shame that would come with having someone defeat you, though.” Technoblade turned and smirked. “Oh, but wait! That has happened, yeah?” Being the only person in the realm to defeat Dream in any capacity was his favorite thing to jest about.

“I’ll make you eat those words!” Dream shouted, leaning back in his seat. “I’ll have them add on a final bracket for us now and we’ll see if your aim is still so sharp after so long.”

“Don’t tempt me!” He laughed in his boarish way and slammed his hand against his armrest. “I haven’t had a good duel in a while. Could be refreshing.”

“Humiliating people would be very refreshing.” Dream nodded, a smirk crawling up his cheeks. “Especially after nearly three days of just watching. It’s a damn tease.”

Technoblade agreed. “It’s like going to a brothel with your hands all tied up.”

Sapnap started to laugh. “Depending on how you look at it, that could be pretty great.”

“What?!” Dream cried. “Gross!”

And the three men fell into giggling fits. Being of high status didn’t exempt you from having a sense of humor. Especially with rulers so young.

However, not every quilt is tailored perfectly. Mid-conversation, mid-lovely-laughter, a messenger approached the Faceless Lord, extending a letter out to him with urgency, and bowing low. “An important message from L'Manberg regarding the election, my Lord.”

The three men went silent and Dream stood up, his metal-toe boots clinking against the floor. He looked at the letter and noticed this was not the stationary of a letter sent from the President's office. It was pink rosewood parchment, sealed with yellow wax and scented of lavender. This didn’t have any benchmark of anything from the team of President Soot and VP Innit. In fact, that’s what worried Lord Dream the most.

It wasn’t from the President. It was from Miss Niki of the Sweetwater.

He took it and waved off the messenger. He wasted not even a second to open the letter and pull it close to his ceramic face.

The beautiful calligraphy was wasted on such sorrowful words.

_ Dream, _

_ I hope this letter finds you in good spirits, because this is about to get quite messy. As you are aware, the L'Manberg election was earlier this week. This election was to determine the next leader of the greater free world. I understand that you’re away on important business, but this is urgent. A tyrant has taken rule over L'Manberg early this morning and has unlawfully decreed the banishment of former President Wilbur Soot and Vice President Tommy Innit. _

_ Not only are my Wilbur and my Tommy lost, but the tyrant has begun to make changes to our country that I fear are for the worst. Things have edged on turning violent and I fear that peace will soon be a distant memory. Without them, I have little hopes to hinge on the future. _

_ I know of your past altercations with L'Manberg and their people. I know how you feel about Wilbur. But as your friend, I need your help locating them and reassuring me that they are safe. I fear for their safety more than my own and I urge you to help me find them. I’ll do whatever I need to repay you. _

_ Please...Please help me find them, Dream. _

_ Yours truly, _

_ Niki _

Dream’s hidden face grew less and less enthusiastic as his eyes traced over the words, having to reread the letter over and over to fully comprehend the meaning. He had to stop himself from feeling an odd satisfaction on the idea of L'Manberg asking him for help. It wasn’t L'Manberg - it was Niki. His friend.

And she never asked for help lightly. 

The King noticed the change in atmosphere, placing a hand on the Lord's shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Nothing needed to be said when they matched each other's gaze. Technoblade knew what important matters looked like.

“Here.” He turned to his guards and spoke in rushed Piglin for a moment. “Sapnap can stay in your place. I will have accommodations made.”

“But Techno, I can’t - ”

He held his hand up before Dream could protest any more. “You don’t let your mask slip for just anything.” The irony was thick in his voice. “I haven’t seen you this frozen since the First War. Go. I’ll take care of everything, and I’ll be in the wings if you need Sus’ aid.”

With a quick bow of thanks and a rushed hug for Sapnap, Lord Dream was out of the stadium and on horseback headed towards the northeast as fast as his steed would allow.

It’s important to remember at this point who and what L’Manberg was. If one was to look at a map of the continent, L’Manberg was a small walled bump in the north that could be easily missed if you weren’t looking for it. But it was an important place, if not a large one. It was a symbol for the kingdom's far and wide. It was a reminder that things could change.

And it was the birthplace of democracy.

Dream had arrived at L'Manberg upon the next evening, arriving as the sun kissed the horizon. Despite the sky painting everything in a golden hue, the atmosphere was thick and heavy. The beauty of the sunset was a disguise. The elongated navy shadows dragged along the ground were the truth beneath. 

The gate to the country was wide open, with only minimal guards that didn’t question Dream’s entrance. That alone sent Dream’s stomach into a tumble. It only proceeded to get more eerie. None of the citizens of the state seemed to be bustling about as they typically would. Everything was quiet, and crooked, and hollow.

Everything was off, and he took note of it.

The atmosphere wasn’t the only thing causing goosebumps to glaze his skin. As he made his way through the state, he noticed multiple subtle decor changes that only someone with a keen eye or elephant memory would see. Flags were missing. Doors were boarded up or windows shattered. The fountain in town wasn’t spilling water. Flowerbeds were dug up. Many trees had been chopped down as well, most notably one that seemed to have shattered wood and caution tape around it.

This level of decimation felt like a disease. It was like a parasite was crawling through the very dirt of this land.

Finally, when he was outside the city hall, he noticed the array of arrows stabbed into the dirt ahead of the stage, where he assumed the election had been held only a few mornings ago. The arrows had been left on purpose. His stomach sank, and he caught himself picking up the pace and charging into the hall with adrenaline starting to leak into his blood.

His mind raced as he navigated the building. No guards. It was like someone  _ wanted  _ him in here. He felt too welcome.

He had questions swarming in his brain, eating up his neurons and pulling at his nerves. He couldn’t tell if he should be sneaking or running or barging into office after office to demand any and every kind of respect. He decided, though, to find a nice medium, and find the new leadership as fast as he could to attempt to find some resolution or peace or face to punch.

He reached the office that VP Innit used to reside in, finally, and he took a deep breath. He wanted to stop and gather his thoughts, but his quickly blooming rage got the better of him and he grabbed the door handle and pushed in with all his strength. 

He stormed in and raised a finger to begin his verbal assault, but paused. His face fell when his eyes landed on who was standing blamelessly by the desk. He expected a villain. A tall, dark, horned beast with a forked tail and slitted eyes. He expected a mob boss, a murderous mercenary, an enemy.

But instead he got a friend.

“George?” He said in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?”


	2. Chapter Two: The Walls Have Ears

**Les Murs Ont Des Oreilles**

_ The Walls Have Ears _

Tubbo could still hear Niki’s voice as she prepped his vanilla and strawberry birthday cake. She was singing along as Wilbur strummed his guitar, both of them enjoying their time as Tubbo sat with his pet bee on his lap, fluffy and wiggling and buzzing with excitement as Tommy slipped it another berry. They sat at the table in the bakery kitchen while Niki and Wilbur bustled around. The smell was indescribable. Niki must have had magic ovens or gifted fingers. 

Her bakery felt like another world.

“I can’t believe you actually did it.” Tommy had whispered to Tubbo.

“What?”

“Named it TnT.” He pointed at the bee, who looked at him with its blank black eyes and buzzed.

“You suggested it!” Tubbo cried. “You suggested it months ago.”

“But why’d you keep it, yeah?” He asked. “It’s a dumb name, I was only takin’ the piss.”

“TnT.” Tubbo said proudly. “For ‘Tommy and Tubbo’.”

Tommy’s face dropped its normal smug mask and softened all its edges. “Well, then. That’s right good. Fine enough with me. It’s still stupid, very stupid, but it’s fair enough.”

That’s where Tubbo should have been now. He should have been celebrating his birthday, surrounded by his loved ones. He should have been eating his cake, dodging icing that Tommy would flick and saying truly crazed idealistic statements that only Niki could ever translate. He should be there, with his President and his VP in the warmth of a fire with a smile the size of the moon plastered on his face.

But instead he was in the office of Sir George, Former Royal Law Consultant of Dreamland, getting his rations cut again.

George smoothed down the lapels of his fitted navy suit before shaking his head. “Tubbo.” His voice was heavy. “We’ve been over this. I can’t change any legal punishment President Schlatt gives.”

Tubbo was shaking in his seat, his hands wringing together. The poor boy was a vibrating knot of nerves. “No, but see, this time could be different! I-“

“It’s not different. You understand why hiding Wilbur’s belongings is considered treason.” 

“It was just a beanie!” Tubbo cried. 

“It was an item belonging to a criminal.” 

“He’s not a criminal! He’s my friend!” He cried. And then his tears started to spill.

George pushed up his glasses. His blue and brown eyes scanned over the scene before him. His heart sank. “I know.” He spoke softly. “I know you’re having a hard time. And I’m sorry that this adjustment is hard for you. But Schlatt knows what he’s doing. And you’re doing a great job! Don’t worry about a thing.” He leaned onto his desk and gave Tubbo a gentle smile. It was full of genuine care, and that’s what made it worse. “How’s this? Go rest up. I’ll talk to Schlatt about going easier on you next time. Yeah?”

Tubbo looked down at his lap with bleary eyes and nodded. His bee buzzing and hovering by his head turned to nuzzle him. Tubbo pulled him out of the air and clutched him to his chest as he scurried out of the room. Before he left, he looked over his shoulder once. He wanted to say something, anything. But he bit his tongue and disappeared to find Niki. If anyone could quell his sobs, it was her.

George sat back in his chair once his room was empty and sighed. That was the harder part of this. Anything with Tubbo was a little bit difficult. “A firm hand with a kind smile”. That’s what George was told to have. It was hard, though. A firm hand was not exactly in his nature. But everything else was going perfectly, so a little discomfort was a good sacrifice. That’s what Schlatt had said. And Dream would be so proud when he returned - so why would George stop now? 

Even if Schlatt and Dream didn’t get along, Schlatt seemed to know exactly what George needed to do to make Dream happy. When Schlatt invited George to mix their votes, he was confused at first. He was a little wary. Democracy was already fragile, and he was unaware of its limits. But then Schlatt explained everything, and it all made perfect sense. This was all for Dream. This would be the best way to finish what he started with the First War. L’Manberg had been repressed and contained, but it hadn’t been stopped. Not fully. 

And now George could help it be stopped.

George smiled to himself and rolled a pencil across his deck. It felt good to feel useful again. This was even better than if he had won the presidency himself.

He stood up and slipped his suit jacket off. It was so tight it was uncomfortable. He hadn’t picked it. He wasn’t one to know what to wear. His background didn’t allow for a taste to develop. You can’t build a wardrobe on an empty pocket. Dream had been one to help him dress before. Dream and Sapnap both had helped him before. But he trusted Schlatt with that now as well. These suits were unique. Uncomfortable, but unique. 

As he rolled up his sleeves, he wandered over to his window. He could see the acres of land that were finally being treated right. Workers were tending to the fields and crop production was increasing, just according to plan. He took a moment to revel in the success. This land was already improving for the better. It was crumbling under the past leadership anyway.

At least, that’s what he was told. And he had no reason to not believe it. J Schlatt had been nothing but understanding and firm and kind. George had no reason to think about it too long.

The slamming of his office door being forced open ripped him from his thoughts. He whipped around, eyes wide and face panicked, until he saw it was Dream. His body filled with dopamine and he smiled wide and welcoming. He took his glasses off and placed them in his shirt pocket. “Dream!” He cried brightly. 

“George?” He said in disbelief. His blond hair was tousled and his cape was bundled around his legs like he had been in quite the hurry. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I wasn’t expecting you back yet!” George shoved his hands into his pockets. “I missed you. How did it go?”

Dream was immediately put off by enthusiasm in George’s tone, but calmed himself outwardly as to not expose his knowledge on the current political standing of the state. He adjusted his clothes and straightened his stance, his face under his mask twisted in confusion. To his knowledge, this was the tyrannical leader Niki had spoken of, which was a little more than unbelievable. George was the child who would cry when he accidentally stepped on a worm on the road. He had kept those ideals as he grew - and he was always there next to Dream without question.

This couldn’t the tyrant.

He gave the other a friendly smile, happy to see his best friend happy nonetheless, his heartbeat picking up as it always did. “The opening ceremonies went great, and the starting competition was amazing this year. Technoblade and I were eager to get in the thick of things.”

“Why didn’t you?” George cocked his head.

In that moment, he realized he’d have to lie his way through the situation. It was easy for Dream to lie to most anyone, but that didn’t mean he was keen to lie to his most beloved friend. “I came back early to see how the election went. I hadn’t heard of any results but I heard you were still here and assumed you won. So congratulations!”

“Oh, no. I didn’t win.” George shook his head. He didn’t look upset at all with that information. “I’m just the head of public relations!” He chuckled and opened his arms to present his office. “Welcome to the HR of former L’Manberg!” He walked over to lean against his desk. When he did sit himself on the oak wood, he crossed his legs. “So. What do you think?”

Dream was thinking a lot.

His mind was racing with questions, none of which he could ask safely. Though his head was confused and worried, his voice did not show it. “That’s great, George! I’m glad things have been working out.” He started his sentence off sweetly to divert attention from his need for answers. 

It seemed to work, because George absolutely blossomed under his compliments. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“But if you didn’t win, who did?”

“Wait, you don’t know yet. That’s right!” That made him laugh. “You are going to get a total kick out of this. It’s J Schlatt!”

“What?!” The shout that Dream let out wasn’t his to control. It escaped his throat, and with it, there was ample rage.

George seemed unaffected. “Crazy, right? As soon as his time on his banishment was up, he was here and just joined in!” He pushed off his desk and walked over to Dream. His eyes were brimming with excitement. “It was crazy. Everything’s been so crazy. But it’s amazing.”

Even his friend’s joy couldn’t help Dream rebury the anger that was escaping. All of his composure dropped the second those words left George’s mouth. That name alone was enough to make Dream want to punch a wall. He looked down at the other with newfound authority, his temper leaking into his tone. “And you just trusted him, even though you know damn well what he’s done.” 

The edge in his voice made George start to wilt. His face dropped. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of Dream’s anger. He cast his eyes downward. “I, uh...” he rubbed his opposite forearm with his left hand.

Dream’s jaw clenched in irritation, and he no longer saw a reason to keep up his oblivious shtick. “Tell me if I am getting this wrong, George. To my knowledge, the very second he came into power, he unlawfully banished Wilbur and Tommy from their home without any fair warning, correct? What about that is amazing to you?”

“Well, it wasn’t unlawful. He made it law! And he did it for a reason.”

“You think it’s lawful to banish legal citizens from a state they live in on, what? A loss? Because of a lost election? Is it lawful to banish a child?!” Dream’s voice was getting louder and George was shrinking under it.

“If they stayed, they could try to start another rebellion. He sent them off somewhere and they’re totally safe! He said they’ll be fine. Just separated.” George said. “It’s like what Wilbur did to Prince Eret!”

“Wilbur gave Prince Eret housing even after an attempt on his life!” Dream cried. “Schlatt abandoned Wilbur and Tommy to the wilderness! Tell me, George, where are they now if they’re safe?” Dream meant it as more of a statement than a question. He knew George had no answer. “If Schlatt was so worried about a ‘rebellion’ then wouldn’t it have been better to keep them within reach?”

George had no answer. Again.

Because Schlatt never gave answers. Only promises.

Dream took a step away from George, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Schlatt doesn’t know what he’s doing. I don’t know how he won when I know damn well Wilbur and Tommy were the most popular duo on that stage. The second he slips up, I won’t hesitate to step in.” He turned to the door, his elegant deep green cloak flowing with the movement. “We’re friends, George, and I’m proud of your position. But I won’t stand aside and turn a blind eye to ignorant injustice. Even if you are participating in it.”

That flipped a switch in George’s dual-toned eyes.

“‘Ignorant injustice’?” George scoffed. “Wilbur and Tommy started a war - against you, mind it. They are criminals. They are your enemies. Our enemies! Them being banished was best.” He shook his head. “Remember how we exploded their base? Less than a few years ago? Remember how they tried to destroy everything you worked for? This is what you wanted. But it’s happening now. Be happy about it!”

“Happy about it?” Dream sneered.

George hesitated for a moment and crossed his arms. “Also. J Schlatt won fairly. Don’t discount him. He did this honestly. Quackity and I gave him our votes and it was more than Wilbur and Tommy’s.” 

Without a moment's hesitation, Dream whipped around and stepped towards George, looming over him with his unnatural height. His shoulders were squared, arms tense, his entire body presenting itself as a threat to George. “You gave Schlatt your votes?!” Dream’s blood was boiling, coursing like fire through his veins. His voice was low and loud. 

“The people wanted change.” George stuck his nose in the air.

For the first time in their entire time knowing each other, Dream had the thought of breaking it.

Dream began inching impossibly closer to George, and with each step he forced the other to take a step back as well. “You’re going to stand here.” A step. “Look me in the eye.” Step. “And tell me to be thankful.” Step. “That you knowingly put a criminal in charge.” Step. “Of one of the most influential states in the land.” The steps stopped. He had backed the other against the wooden desk. “We resolved our war. I enacted laws against L’Manberg to keep them in place. Since then nobody has acted out against me. There hasn’t been an issue until today!”

When his lower back hit the desk, George jumped. He hadn’t seen Dream this angry in over a year - and had never seen Dream this angry at him in his life. His tone made him feel nauseous. “Schlatt isn’t a criminal!” He cried. “He’s changed! Dream, listen, we can go talk to Schlatt together. It might help you understand. He’s a better man now and he’s got a plan to make L’Manberg better!” He leaned back a bit as Dream got closer. “Dream, just listen - “

Right when he said that, there was a knock at the door. “Sir George! Is everything okay in there?” A guard yelled through the wood. 

The two men in the office fell quiet. Their eyes met through Dream’s mask as their heavy breathing from their anger echoed between them. George took a deep breath and slid away from Dream. “I’m fine!” He straightened his tie and glared at the masked man. “Just usual business.”

“If you need anything, call!” The guard said.

“Will do!” George offered back.

When the guards' footsteps were moving away, George turned and pointed a finger right at Dream’s chest. “You shot Tommy Innit.”

Dream’s jaw went slack, incredulous. “George - “

“Don’t ‘George’ me. Don’t act like you care now. I’m doing this for the betterment of Dreamland. I’m doing this for you.” His eyes narrowed.

Dream fell silent at that. He knew he wasn’t going to get through to the other, not now at least. George was a steadfast person. He always had been. He remembered being young and listening to George spout off facts and vague knowledge while they both sat in the sun under birch trees. George was not the type of person to stop believing in his convictions lightly - and Dream could tell that he truly believed that he was doing the right thing. He’d need a form of evidence to show George just how wrong this all was, but he simply didn’t have that right now.

He took a step back, deciding this discussion needed to end before he either started screaming or dragged George out by hand. “I know where you’re coming from, George, I know your heart is in a good place. It always is. But I can’t be here anymore. I can’t be around this. And I can’t support you.”

Dream turned before George’s eyes could make him stay any longer. He made his way to the doorway and stilled in the threshold. He hesitated. He looked over his shoulder. George was standing in shock, his face a twisted mess of anger and hurt. Dream cast his eyes to the floor. “I have important work that needs to be done. Congratulations on your position. I hope you’re happy.”

For the first time, he had nothing else to say to the other. Saying goodbye to George had never been this easy.

“Well, wait!” George rushed to try to grab his sleeve and held on with an iron grip. His voice was full of pain. He did not handle himself well when people were angry at him, let alone if it was the Dream of all people. Just a few more harsh words and George might start to cry from frustration. And he couldn’t have that. 

In that moment, his greatest fears were coming through. 

“Just - look, okay?” He stammered. “I can show you proof things are better. Just listen to me! Food production is up by thirty percent! And public opinion is - “

George was interrupted by two guardsmen, standing just beyond Dream in the hall outside his door. The both cleared their throats, then the taller one on the right started to speak. “Lord Dream of Dreamland? Sir George of Community and Commerce? The President summons you both.”

Dream’s anger was quickly masked by his leaderly charm. He gave the guards a smile and a nod, thanking them for the notice. On the outside, he put on his best show - his posture immaculate, his demeanor calming.

Internally, he was furious. He had come here for answers. He came here for a lead to locate Wilbur and his running mate. He came here for easy solutions. He did not come here expecting to have to discourse with George, nor did he expect to see J Schlatt. He, in fact, never expected to see him again. That was the intention of banishment. 

His hatred for that man ran deeper than the Netherworld was hot, and his temper was already too sensitive for an encounter like this. Nevertheless, as a Lord, he was required to keep up appearances to maintain the peace. And, truly, upkeep his reputation. So he swallowed his pride and agreed to see the ‘President’. Just the title was worthy of mockery.

They both went willingly.

George walked down the halls next to Lord Dream, with the guards behind them. He kept glancing out of the corner of his eyes at Dream and tried to read him, tried to figure out the energy he was giving off.

This wasn’t the reaction he had been expecting. This wasn’t the reaction he was promised. He was promised a sense of completion. He hadn’t exactly felt that yet - especially not today. Dream wasn’t understanding. Dream wasn’t  _ seeing.  _ George needed to just get him to see. 

They reached the door of the presidential office in a timely manner. The guards opened the doors for them and motioned the two inside with low bows. As they entered, two things were noticeable. One, the office was empty of all furniture, all carpets and all flags. It was barren except for a single desk. It had been stripped, and still hadn’t been refurbished. And two, the President had been waiting for them for quite a while.

And he reeked of expensive soap.

He sat behind his desk, in front of a large window. The window showed fields of sowed earth, flourishing orchards and the golden sunset. It was more beautiful than a painting. It was the perfect summation of L’Manberg. But the view behind the glass couldn’t compete with the terrifying ego in front of it. 

He was neatly groomed, not a hair out of place, and his curled horns gleaned bronze in the orange sunlight. The points of them were sharp. His eyes, piercing and goat-like, were full of smug pretentious pleasure. Dream inhaled sharply as he processed the horns, the horizontal pupils, and the large white ears that framed his face. 

Those weren’t there before his banishment.

President Schlatt smiled at Dream with shockingly white teeth. “Good afternoon, My Lord.” He chuckled. “What an honor to see you.”

His voice was dark and rich like coffee but cold and unfeeling like ice, and his mannerisms were too relaxed. He was a dangerous predator, lying in wait, playing with his food. His sharp nails tapped slowly against the top of his desk.

It was obvious to Dream that something was horrifically, terribly, painfully wrong. But one glance to his side sunk his stomach.

Because George just couldn’t see it. 

Schlatt glanced at George with an unreadable smile before turning back to Dream. “Oh, my! How silly of me. ‘My Lord’.” He laughed to himself and crossed his legs under the desk. “You aren’t My Lord anymore, you made sure of that. Well, now that we are of similar status, we can drop the formalities. I don’t expect you to call me President day-to-day.” He paused in consideration. “Yet.”

George looked away, his cheeks pink from anxiety. Schlatt had a disposition of power about him. His very presence commanded attention. And it made George feel like curling into a ball. A firm hand with a kind smile. Something like that. 

Dream noticed George’s shift. He noticed everything. He felt himself scowling under his mask, as much as he tried to resist.

“You came to visit George, didn’t you?” Schlatt feigned awe. “How adorable. I’m sure you were very proud of all the progress he’s made. He’s not just your best friend anymore, Dream. He’s a Lord of his own. Does it feel exciting to have him on your level?” He let out a dark laugh. “I thought you would be pleased. Much like how I think you will be pleased with the direction we are trending here. Our people are prospering.”

“George has always been an influential man, I don’t need to be proud of him here. But I’m very intrigued by the progress you’ve made here in L’Manberg.” He chose his words carefully, knowing this man would take anything he said and would run with it until he found a proper use for them. 

Where Dream’s mind would solve issues like jigsaw puzzle pieces, organizing each one and putting them rightfully in their respectful places, Schlatt’s would bear scissors, cutting the pieces apart and forcing them together in any way he could, uncaring of the scraps he’d leave behind, or how the final picture would be a mangled disorganized mess. Schlatt was a  _ mangler _ . He was a destroyer. 

And he could pick apart your mind until he convinced you that his thoughts were your own.

Caution was necessary.

The mere sight of Schlatt was nauseating. The way he carried himself was too confident, too sure of himself. All of his movements were methodical. If Dream didn’t know any better, he’d call it robotic. Rehearsed. Not only was his posture alone alarming, it was his aesthetic, too. It was his new appearance. It made Dream wonder what kind of wrathful deity you’d have to piss off to be cursed with the look of the devil himself. It was sickening, and he wanted it as far away from him as possible. “Pardon my ignorance, but may I ask what the purpose was for summoning me to your office?”

George shuffled his feet in discomfort as J Schlatt let out another laugh. His repose was reminiscent of a poisonous spider waiting in a web. “Ah, Dream. I’ve missed you.” He sighed. “Always straight to the point. How could I not summon you? You return gracelessly from a tourney that’s still going on. You come straight here. And you start a ruckus with one of my most trusted and beloved advisors.”His eyes glanced over at George. “Have you told him about how we’re going to help Dreamland?”

George shook his head. “I, uh, didn’t get to. We were getting to that. He was really upset about - “

“About the two traitors.” Schlatt’s face grew solemn in mock solidarity. “Truly tragic. I can understand the distress, Dream. Grief manifests in odd ways. We are just alike. I know when I was banished I dealt with many anger outbursts. It’s all a part of the healing and growing process.” He nodded somberly and held a hand to his heart. “I understand your pain, Dream. Those two poor souls. If only they hadn’t been so against you - and me - as leaders.”

“With all due respect, Schlatt, you are not my therapist.” The corner of his mouth twitched as his irritation grew. He wanted his name, and the name of his kingdom, to stay out of his twisted, dirty mouth. “We are nothing alike. Do not try to twist my feelings to fit into your fantasies.” Though his words were harsh, his tone remained consistent and calm. It was growing increasingly difficult, however, for him to treat the other with civility. 

George cleared his throat and Schlatt’s glance shot to him. “I think that maybe we should show Dream the plan you had. He’ll understand then. He’ll be able to see it.” He turned to Dream with pleading eyes.

Schlatt nodded. “Oh, yes. I agree.” He lifted a packet of papers from his desk. “This details out every single success we have had this week alone. Food production up thirty percent, crime reduced by eighty-five percent, job security up by ninety-seven percent.”

“I’m impressed.” Dream said.

“I’m glad.” Schlatt grinned.

“I’m sure you must have very strict rules in place to make that happen.” His words were dripping with implications.

He smirked. “If it works, it works.”

“Is it working?”

“Very well.”

“And why are you showing me this?” Dream asked.

“What if I could offer Dreamland safety and security and abundance that it had never seen before.” His eyebrows rose and he leaned forward to place his bearded chin in his hand. “Much like how we are ensuring the growth and prosperity of former L’Manberg, we can offer similar aid to you. In exchange for unity. And peace. And benignity.”

Dream gave one single strong laugh. Under his mask his face contorted into a display of amusement and bewilderment. “You’re obviously underestimating the strength of my land. Listen, it’s real nice of you to offer, but I would never seek foreign aid from a criminal.”

“A criminal?” He gasped in falsified shock. “I’ve done my time and learned from my mistakes. Give me more credit than that.”

“Never.” His face fell back to an expression of neutrality. “Even if you were being serious, there’s no way I would agree to something as vague and inconsequential sounding as that.”

“I have a contract drafted.” He flashed his teeth.

“As much as you’d like to deny it, I know your tendencies to find loopholes in every sentence you craft. Save it for someone more gullible than me.”

“Oh, Clay.” He smirked. “I don’t need loopholes anymore.” He looked over at George and waved his hand. “See him out - then come right back. I want to discuss our new tax plan together.”

George nodded and cast his eyes to the floor. “Yes, sir.” He reached over to gently place a hand on Dream’s forearm. “Come on then.”

Dream didn’t stall for a second when he was told to leave, and it was actually the first time he had looked at George since they had their altercation in his office. When their eyes met, his face finally fell. 

It hurt. It hurt knowing that someone he cared about so deeply was so easily swayed by such a deceptive malicious man. George deserved more. George _ was  _ more. It hurt even more when he wouldn’t listen when he vocalized that.

But he wasn’t a babysitter. George was a man of his own pedigree, his own mind and power. He was making his own choices. Dream knew where his battles lied and he had bigger, more urgent priorities to take care of first. Despite his past with L’Manberg and its citizens' resentment, he wasn’t a man to turn away those in need. George would have to figure his part out on his own. Dream just hoped his rose colored glasses would break sooner rather than later.

When the two of them reached the outside of the L’Manberg City Hall, he turned to George. Words sat on the tip of his tongue, but nothing came out. His expression was softer now, one of concern and care rather than anger and resentment. He placed a firm hand on the other's shoulder and after a moment he finally spoke. “Be safe, okay?”

George looked up at him through his thick lashes. His face was scribbled with unspoken sentences and burning anxieties. “You too. You’re my best friend. And I promise everything is going to work out.” He tried to summon a smile but it was unsteady.

There was a certain sadness in Dream’s eyes, hidden behind the cold smiling ceramic. He took a breath and gave the other a final pat. “Make the right choices, George.”

He paused just to give the other a final look and turned down the path he came. 

He was slowly noticing more and more subtle details about L’Manberg that had been changed as he made his way towards the wall. Maybe crime was down, but this entire place looked like a prison. 

As he made his way down the road, his mind kept returning to one person in particular - Niki. He couldn’t imagine the pain Niki was going through. After the war, Dream and Niki had become good friends. He had heard of her prosperous life with Wilbur, away from the life she had escaped. He had heard in passing her hopes for a wedding, and she deserved it after the hell she had lived. Of course, though, he knew Wilbur’s obsession with his work - the poor man probably didn’t even know she was waiting and now it certainly seemed like nothing would be happening soon.

Was she safe, being so closely tied to Wilbur? Dream could only hope.

Small sobbing sounds drew his attention to the remains of a small tree - the one behind the caution tape. Upon the stump sat Tubbo, hunched over and watching the sky turn from orange to red to violet. The warm sunset reflected off his large, mournful eyes, making each single tear look like liquid gold on his pink cheeks. 

Upon getting closer, Dream could hear him singing something under his breath. It was quiet. It was barely there. But the anthem of L’Manberg left his lips. The bee in his lap buzzed along softly. They both let the anthem bounce on the breeze, out towards the sky and the water and wherever. Tubbo, deep down, hoped it somehow got to Tommy. 

Another stray bee had made itself comfortable near the base of the stump. Tubbo just attracted nature to him. Animals respond to compassion - the world responds to good intentions. And he received the benefits of someone with a pure heart and empathetic soul. 

He was shifting around a lot. He was uncomfortable. The suit he wore was disgustingly itchy - and way too big. His skin hated it. But he had little other options according to President Schlatt. He was already pushing it by keeping his tennis shoes. And he knew he would be dead if he was caught with Tommy’s shirt, which he kept hidden under his button up. It was the only things he had of them - and with Wilbur’s beanie being taken this morning, he had little else left to love. 

And he needed these things. They were his illegal tokens of hope. 

They were artifacts of the past. 

Tubbo didn’t think before about how ‘the past’ could mean ‘last week’. 

Dream decided a small detour would be worth his time and silently walked over, taking a seat on the ground next to the stump, a quiet stretch of empathy hanging in the air. Tubbo turned his head around and seemed to perk up in surprise a bit when he saw Dream. He crossed his legs and tried to compose himself. He wiped his cheeks on his sleeve. He cocked his head. “Lord Dream?” He asked with a sniffle. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate the new President of L’Manberg.” He paused and looked out into the horizon. “Then I discovered who the new ‘president’ was.” He looked back to Tubbo. “And now I’m here to give my condolences.”

Tubbo pulled his bee closer to him, his eyes drifting away. “He’s a great leader.” He said almost robotically. “And I’m honored to be in his cabinet.” He let out a heavy, shaking breath.

Dream wasn’t buying the shtick and it showed plain as day. He gave the other a worried but caring look and spoke in a soft tone. “You’re safe to speak freely around me, Tubbo.” He reassured the boy and allowed a silence to fall over them for a brief moment. 

What was Schlatt doing to him? What was happening here that Dream couldn’t see? He didn’t know what he could possibly do to start healing what Schlatt had broken.

He leaned forward, like he was about to tell a taboo fairytale, leaning his elbows on his legs. He spoke in a hushed tone. “Tubbo, can you keep a secret?” 

Tubbo was curled in on himself. His bee was staring at Dream with his separated blank eyes. Tubbo was giving him a similar panicked look. He knew he was being watched. He always was. Especially sitting next to someone the likes of Dream. He wouldn’t be shocked if Schlatt somehow had eyes on him personally at all times. 

There wasn’t a safe place anywhere anymore. 

Tubbo bit his lip and hesitated. “Will the secret get me trouble?” He whispered.

“You’re allowed to say no, Tubbo.” He gave the boy a choice, which seemed like he had very little of nowadays. 

“I won’t say no right now, Lord Dream.” He said. “I don’t think I’m in the place to be picky about anything.”

“That’s not true.” He shook his head solemnly. “In my presence, no matter where you reside, you’ll always have a say in what you want and need to do.”

Those words made Tubbo start to tear up again. It was like finally breaking to the surface and breathing air again, to hear kindness like this from a near stranger for the first time in days. He nodded. “Okay, sir. Then yes. I would like to know.”

Dream, feeling prying eyes on the two of them, shaded his mouth with a cupped hand before saying, “I’m going to find them, Tubbo.” 

He paused for a moment to let the other process the information. And it looked like he needed it, with his eyes instantly filling with tears. 

Dream leaned in again. “I’ll be keeping in contact with Niki on my search. If you ever have any questions, go through her. She’s your closest ally.” He looked into Tubbo’s eyes and nodded. “Now laugh like I told you a good joke.” Dream finished and sat back with a smile on his face.

Tubbo was already crying when Dream told him to laugh. He tried, but he let out a noise that was more similar to a dead cat being run over by a wheezing race horse. His eyes were so full of hope and excitement. His legs were bouncing. “Thank you.” He whispered, his smile sneaking up through his tears. “Thank you so much.”

Dream reached over and gently ruffled the other's hair. “Don't mention it. I’d never let a bastard like Schlatt get away with shit like this.” He pulled his hand back and stood up, his cape billowing behind him. He looked off at the setting sun as it barely peeked over the horizon. “I have to go now, I’ve got a lot of important business to catch up on. It was nice talking to you, Tubbo. Please stay safe, and stay with Niki.” He gave Tubbo one last smile before turning and leaving.

He set out with one goal in mind: find Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit, and bring them home.

“Stay safe!” Tubbo called after Dream, waving a bit. When he turned back to look at the horizon, he noticed the sun was finally gone. With the sun gone, the air was colder. And Tubbo didn’t feel comfortable on this stump anymore. He stood up with his things and made his way to the bakery, where the lights were on and warmth poured out each window. 

He could still sometimes see Wilbur’s silhouetted shadow in the doorway. Just like he could sometimes feel Schlatt’s breathing down his neck.

George watched the sun leave from the window in the President’s office. J Schlatt was tapping his rings hard on the top of his oak desk, pushing around his rolling chair. “Georgie. What did I tell you?” He sighed. “Dream is selfish. He sees himself and his kingdom and nothing outside of it. The people around him are nothing but decor. As soon as he doesn’t think you match any more, you go straight in the trash.”

George’s back was to him. He just kept staring out the window and fiddling with the arms of his glasses. “He’s just not like that.” He shook his head. “I just -”

“He’s let you feel second for years.” Schlatt pushed out his chair and slowly stood up. 

“He hasn’t let me, he just - “

“Hasn’t noticed?”

“No.” George shook his head. 

“Hasn’t cared?”

He whipped around and threw his hands up. “Schlatt, please. Dream just communicates differently. He’s not a monster. He’s just guarded and maybe he can’t always explain how he feels. But he’s still wonderful. And he’s still my friend.” His voice was earnest. 

“Does a friend discount your status like that?” Schlatt said. “How did it make you feel, Georgie?”

His voice faltered. “I’m...I’m hurt from today. I miss my friend.”

Schlatt walked from his desk over to George. The sound of his hooves echoed in the empty room. He put a hand on George’s shoulder. “A friend wouldn’t be so angry over your success. And a good leader wouldn’t refuse help for his people.” 

“I suppose so.” George kept his eyes downcast.

He squeezed George’s shoulder tightly. “It’s hard to come to terms with, I know.” His calm, hungry smile settled on his face again. “Stick with me. And I can show you what it really means to lead. And I’ll show you what it means to stand beside someone.” 

“Beside someone?”

“Me, you and Quackity. A team.” He leaned in dangerously. “We can prove Dream wrong. We can show him. Together.”

George paused. His mind tossed around a million options, but eventually he looked up. His eyes met Schlatt’s yellow ones. And all his inner fears made him nod and speak. “Together.”


	3. Chapter Three: At The End Of The Day, You're Another Day Older

**A La Fin De La Journée Tu Es Vieux d'Un Jour De Plus**

_ At The End Of The Day, You’re Another Day Older _

What made L’Manberg special was the fact that anyone could have led it. At least that’s what it’s system of democracy advertised. Anyone could run. Anyone could be a leader. While that was true in theory, in practice one thing was made very clear: it could not have been built nor survived it’s first years without one Wilbur Soot.

He was a monarch without any royal blood, a prince by spirit alone. His heart was rumored to be plated with gold, for that’s how virtuous of a man was he. He grew up on a farm in the outskirts of Dreamland and knew from a young age that he wanted to help the world in any way he could. As he got older, he gained friends and allies and people around him like the energetic Tommy, empathetic Tubbo and the powerful Niki. 

To be born of his status, and to rise a country like L’Manberg out of the ashes of a Dreamland rebellion, is what made Wilbur such a fabled figure. And his second in command, Tommy, was just as famous.

But that fame only put them in danger.

Southeast of L’Manberg, just a few days prior to Niki’s letter, the great man and the fearless boy were preoccupied with attempting to create a safe shelter for them to sleep, each serving their punishment for a crime they did not commit. That’s at least what they told themselves. In reality, they were very aware of their crime - existing.

The boy was preoccupied heavily with trying to start a fire without any actual knowledge on  _ how _ to start a fire. He knew the technique involved wood, two sticks, dry grass and kindling, and a string bow if you were feeling festive. Maybe on a good day, you would have some flint. But all he had was sticks, kindling, random bark scraps and a lot of frustration.

He knelt down to the supplies he had gathered from the nearby area and got to work, starting by trying to still the sticks over the wood and twisting it between his hands. Sadly, he had little coordination with such a motion, causing the stick to slip many, many times before he finally gave up, tossing the tools onto the ground with an angry groan. “Fuck this, I’m absolutely one hundred percent certain that this stupid fire starting technique is completely made up. A work of fuckin’ fiction, if you ask me.”

The man with him didn’t respond.

The boy went from sitting forward on his knees to shifting back, sitting flat on his behind with his knees elevated and his arms propped atop them, prepared to continue a rant that had been ongoing since they were banished that very morning. “I shouldn’t be out here starting a stupid fire with my bare hands like an animal. I should be lighting a lantern! With a match! Like a grown-ass man! We deserve to be back home in L’Manberg. We deserve to be the ones occupying the city hall. There are so many lanterns and matches in city hall! Its all a bunch of fuckin’ rubbish if you ask me.”

The man with him continued to sit silently.

When a response never came, the boy craned his head around to search for the face of the man in question. In the dark like this, his tall silhouette could be mistaken for a tree. Tommy almost started wondering if he had run off without him noticing. “Wilbur? Are you listening to me, buddy?”

But Wilbur just stood there. No words left his mouth.

Honey brown eyes were trained on the meager rations of food that he managed to gather from that day. A handful of berries here, some wheatgrass there. It was pathetic. Wilbur hadn’t managed to catch a single piece of meat yet. All he had was his sword - a convenience strapped to his hip during the coup - and it was proving useless with hunting. 

“Wilbur!” Tommy cried out again. 

He worried his lip between his teeth. He couldn't comprehend the panic he felt, but Wilbur had decided at that moment that any and all rations would go to Tommy until further notice. He had a hunger pain worse than any war-torn injury he had ever received, but that didn’t matter now. What was important was keeping the boy fed and keeping them both alive. 

“Wilbur, answer me before I start throwing rocks at you just to prove it’s still you!”

Wilbur was yanked from his thoughts by Tommy’s incessant yelling. He whipped up and he let out a heavy sigh punctuated by the exasperated rubbing of his eyes. “Yes, Tommy, I can hear you.” He groaned.

“This stick-to-fire shit is utter bollox!” He shouted and threw his arms up.

“I know, I know. Life is shit and we are in the mud. Literally.” Wilbur sat back on his heels. He stood up and walked over closer to the other. “Look, if you want to go ahead and eat, I can start the fire. Deal?” 

“Deal.”

“Now scoot over.” Wilbur waved his hand. His voice was calm in a way only achieved by two types of people in stressful situations: parents and politicians. His eyes were tired but full of affection. He was good at keeping his face straight, good at keeping his body in one piece. And perhaps that’s why he was managing to not break down yet. 

No, no. That would come later. When the boy couldn’t see. 

“Just hand me everything. I can teach you while you eat. How’s that?”

Tommy scooted away from the supplies, sighing in relief. “This is a blessing, Wilbur, really. I thought you’d never ask. What’s for dinner then, big man? What’ve you got me? I’m not expecting a steak but I’m definitely putting all my faith in you. A quail? Turkey?” He rubbed his hands together in anticipation “No pressure, but I expect nothing less than the finest cuisine fit for a king.” He paused for a moment and then started to clap awkwardly. “It was a joke. See, Wilbur, jokes call for laughter. I’ll applaud myself to fill the void, but you missed your cue, big man.”

Wilbur just picked up the berries and wheatgrass and held them out. “It was so funny that my brain forgot how laughter works. My bad.” He placed the vegetation in Tommy’s hands. “Now, eat up and move out of the way.” He stepped to take Tommy’s place in front of the pile of sticks and dried grass. “See, this is your issue. You don’t have anything neat. If you don’t keep it in a pile, you can’t get the right friction.”

Tommy rolled the wheatgrass between his fingers, completely ignoring the wilderness lesson the other was trying to give him. His brain had completely stopped working when the rabbit food took his attention. “Hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on. Wilbur. Will. Did you just put grass in my hand and tell me to eat it? Are you trying to kill me?”

“It’s wheatgrass.” He said, deadpan. “It’s edible. It will taste like lemon. Now eat it.” He kneeled over and started to roll his hands down the stick in a much more controlled manner than Tommy was. “It’s dinner and you will eat it.”

That made Tommy scoff. “Or what? You won’t let me excuse myself from the dinner table? Send me to my room? Newsflash, Wilbur, there’s no room to ground me in anymore, and I’ll do what I damn well please.” He sneered, but immediately popped a berry in his mouth the moment he was done being snarky.

“Tommy, please.” Wilbur continued to rub the sticks together. “Just try to cooperate for once.”

“Cooperate with what? My new caveman lifestyle where I have to pee in the bushes!” Tommy cried.

“Just try to at least relax. Or at least stop being such a child.” Wilbur’s voice got more tense.

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Child? If you want to call me a child, I’ll show you a child!”

Wilbur shut his eyes for a moment and inhaled deeply. “Tommy.” His hands started moving faster. “I need you to understand,” Faster. “that this is the worst time for you to try and be smart with me.” Smoke started to come out of the dry grass. His hands were moving faster, faster, faster. “It’s been a long day.” More smoke. “And I need you to just listen to me!” As he cried out the last sentence, the pile of kindling burst into flames and Wilbur broke off into silence.

Wilbur looked down at the fire and sighed. “Damn. Well there. Told you it could work.” He straightened up and smoothed his jacket. “Now eat. Your very loud complaining could get the attention of some not-good people.”

It wasn’t often Wilbur raised his voice at Tommy, and it had surprised him a bit when he did. Tommy pulled on a pouty face, clenching his jaw as he began to pick at the meal. He mumbled an off-handed comment under his breath. “Well, yellin’ isn’t going to do us any good, either.”

Wilbur nodded and brought a hand to his forehead. “I know. I’m sorry, Tommy.” He sat back in the dirt and stared into the fire with his tired eyes. Now that the adrenaline was fading, only pain was left. “Are you hurt? Physically?”

Tommy’s eyes were fixated on his hands, absentmindedly rolling a berry around between his fingers. “My legs hurt from running, and the old shoulder is acting up, but I'm fine, I think.” He paused for a moment. “How’re you holdin’ up, Will?”

Wilbur kept staring at the fire. “I’ll be fine. And I’ll take the first watch tonight. You need to get some sleep.” He took off his dusty coat and handed it to the younger boy. “Use this as a blanket.”

Tommy shoved all the berries in his mouth just as Wilbur offered him the coat. He almost started talking with his mouth full before he paused, swallowed, and shot back. "You've been awake since the break of dawn, are you sure you're going to be alright?"

“It doesn’t matter if you slept in this morning, Tommy, we both just ran more miles on our feet today then we have our whole lives. It’s an age thing now. So rest.”

“An age thing?” Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, an age thing.” Wilbur paused. “I’m old.”

Tommy shrugged. “That you are, big man.”

“So I’ll be fine.” He pushed the jacket towards him again. “It’s better you rest anyway. We’ll have to walk far tomorrow and start shelter somewhere. You’ll want to be tip top tomorrow.” He couldn’t help but smile softly. “We’ll have to teach you how to do the fire next time.”

“In your dreams.” Tommy reached out and grabbed the hem of the coat. “Thanks.”

Wilbur paused in the passing of the jacket. His face fell. And he quickly dug around in one of the jacket pockets to retrieve something before handing it out again. “Here you go now. All yours.”

He quirked an eyebrow at him and took the jacket hesitantly. “Whatcha hidin’, Wilbur. If you’re hoarding snacks from me, I’m gonna be rather upset with you.” He poked at the other, slinging the much-too-large coat around his shoulders.

Wilbur tucked whatever it was into his pants pocket. He kept his hand over it in a subtle guarding motion. “It’s none of your business, kid.” He forced a smirk. “Now, let's get you a good bed. How is that patch of dirt feeling? Is it up to your standard?”

Tommy narrowed his eyes. “Yes. I suppose it is, actually.”

“Good. Now light’s out.”

“I will find out your secrets, funny man.” Tommy squinted and shook his finger at the other. “This ground better be the best fuckin’ ground any man has ever laid on or so help me Lord above, I will start stabbin’ shit.” He remarked and shifted a bit to the right where the ground was less lumpy and rooty. 

“You said it was up to your standards!”

“Accordin’ to the view. It still needs to pass its tests.” He then stiffly laid back on the dirt, crossing his arms like he was in a damn coffin. “I’m still a loud snorer, by the way. It gets worse in the night air with the humidity and shit. Be prepared for that. I will attract bears in the night.” He took his little tricorne hat and put it over his face and muttered a final, “Goodnight, don’t bother me,” before closing his eyes and falling asleep faster than a baby.

Once he was convinced Tommy was out, Wilbur turned to look out at the forest. His eyes scanned out into the darkness. His ears perked up, waiting for a single twig to snap. He wasn’t fully convinced yet that they hadn’t been followed. Long minutes turned to hours, and hours past where his strong hands danced across the hilt of his sword. But the silence only continued. They were safe - in whatever way they could be.

He relaxed a bit after a while and glanced over at Tommy. The most unfair thing in the world was the fact that he was getting his future ripped from him. He was a child - he was innocent. He didn’t deserve this. And how dare J Schlatt do this to him. 

And how dare Wilbur bring a child into this mess. Tommy was capable, strong. And he could read Wilbur’s mind. He was the best man for the Vice Presidency, and there was no arguing that. The fact he was voted in at such a young age spoke to his abilities. But Wilbur carried a guilt and weight for choosing to guide a child into this mess.

And the fallout of that choice was getting to him now. The look on Tommy’s face as he had called out for Tubbo while running away from the steps of city hall sent shivers down his spine. Tubbo had stood there, paralized with fear. What else could he have done?

_ “...is to revoke the citizenship of Wilbur Soot and Tommy Innit!” _

Those were words that would live in the back of his mind for decades. The memory of J Schlatt’s sickly wicked voice would leave claw marks behind his eardrums until his blood was on his hands.

But the worst of it was Niki. The sound of Niki’s screams would haunt his nightmares until he died.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the treasure he had hidden from Tommy’s prying eyes. It was a small navy velvet box. And inside, there was a ring. It was an engagement ring, specifically - a thin silver band with a small stone. It sparkled like a star in the light of the fire. The pale pink diamond looked almost white under the moon. It was sized for a hand much smaller than his. It looked almost like a toy in his palm, too dainty and too miniature.

She hadn’t wanted anything fancy. At least that’s what Tubbo had told him. He decided to go for something so simply  _ her  _ \- so purely Niki.

His presidential speech was when he would have done it. He was going to thank his friends for helping him get where he had gotten - if he had gotten there. He was going to get down on one knee, in front of all of L’Manberg, and ask Niki to finally, finally, marry him. And it would have been beautiful.

But now, all he can see in his mind is the flash of her dark hair as he ran down main street to safety.

She would have said yes. He knows she would have. And he would have given her the perfect wedding, the one that she deserved. She wanted a beach wedding. She wanted a big one. He would have even invited Lord Dream as an olive branch, and he would have shared his love with the world.

His eyes narrowed into determined slits as he rolled the ring over in his hands. He put it back into the box and slipped it into his pants pocket.

They will survive. And he will rescue her. And she will say yes.

And that hope carried him the entire night.

By the time light finally crept into the sky, Wilbur was still wide awake. He was humming the anthem of his fallen nation as he kept himself lucid. His body was exhausted but his mind was racing. Every possible scenario was being played. The reality of the dangerous situation had fully set in now.

Hopefully Tubbo and Niki survived to see the dawn. Hopefully his people were safe.

The very moment that the sun revealed itself over the far distant mountains, Wilbur was stomping out the fire and crawling over to shake Tommy awake. “Come on.” He said. His voice was hoarse, cracking with every syllable’s peak. “We have to get moving. We need to find a place to set up camp for a while.”

It was hard to imagine finding a safe place for shelter, but it had to be done. They were not welcome in L’Manberg, they were not welcome in Dreamland, and they were in danger everywhere in-between. But they had to try. Wilbur had to keep Tommy alive. “Wake up, Tommy, this isn’t summer camp.”

Tommy laid still on the dirt, face down with the crushed tricorn as his pillow. He made no effort to move, only mumbling into the jacket on top of him. “Five more minutes...” He wiggled and shifted around to sleep more comfortably. After another beat, he suddenly shot upright, panicked eyes darting around at the surrounding area. His brows furrowed in confusion, and all he let out was a small whine. “Oh.” He paused and looked around, coming back into himself. “I thought I was late for school for a second.”

Wilbur closed his eyes and inhaled sharply. It took a moment for him to gather himself after that. When he opened his eyes again, he stood and offered his hand to Tommy. “School would be preferable to this. Come on. We need to find water and find food and find a shelter.”

Tommy blinked hard for a second then ran his hands down his face, trying to do what he needed to actually wake himself up. He refused Wilbur’s hand and shuffled very slowly to his feet, his mind refusing to come to full consciousness. He had exhausted himself yesterday and didn’t even realize it until this very moment.

He picked up the large jacket and his tricorn next, handing the coat back to Wilbur, slightly dirtied from him shifting on the dirt in the night. He uncrumpled the hat to the best of his ability and sat it on his head. “After you, big man, where’re we goin’?” He punctuated his question with a yawn, stretching his arms upwards as he did.

Wilbur slipped on the jacket and glanced around. “The only necessary direction is ‘away’. So let’s get walking. If I’m not mistaken, if we keep walking east for a day or two we’ll hit a sea.” He looked back at Tommy and motioned him to follow. “A sea means food. And safety. Let’s go.”

“Wha- Wilbur, two days? For a fuckin’ ocean, fella?” That woke him right up without hesitation. “How do you even know which way east is? You got a fuckin’ compass or something?”

Wilbur had to figure out how to respond. “...The sun, Tommy. The damn sun.” He started to walk as he said it.

Tommy followed. “What about the sun, Wilbur? Has starin’ into it finally fried the last of your brain?”

“The sun  _ rises in the east _ , Tommy. So you look where the sun is in the morning and follow it.”

He paused for a moment and scrunched his eyebrows together. “I don’t understand.” He had stopped walking in confusion, “I never- Wilbur, I never realized the sun’s in one place everyday.” He waved one of his hands around to show his thought process. “I mean, I mean- It makes sense, but I just never thought about it before, the sun does the- It goes the same route every day? A miracle, man. Nature is a miracle.”

Wilbur stopped walking. He just stood there, blinking in awe and shock. “Tommy, you are almost an adult. You’re almost out of school. Tommy...Tommy, the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. It’s a part of nature. It’s a law of science.”

“Well, according to every single person I know,  _ including you,  _ I’m still a child so I’m not too worried about how you perceive me, big man. Not my fault the education system failed me once again.” He shrugged and walked ahead of Wilbur. “East, west, who cares? Doesn’t matter in a court of law.”

“Do you remember Sir Sapnap?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow, starting to walk again. “You realize he’s only two and half years older than you. And he definitely knows that the sun rises in the east. Actually, scratch that. Tubbo is your age and one hundred percent knows that.” He frowned. After a long moment of irate silence, he sighed. “Education reform will be something I look into, then. Now come on.” He got ahead of Tommy and started to lead again.

As he marched through the grass and trees, the silence between him and Tommy felt too much. His paternal instincts were turned up too far. He shook his head. “Tommy, I am...I am still in shock. What do you think about the moon then?”

He was completely silent for a moment, trailing behind the other man at an even pace. “Well, I’m all raddled about it now that you mentioned it.” He scratched his head. “No, no, no. There’s actually no way the moon does the same thing, I’ve seen the moon in different spots. Every night it’s in a different spot in the sky.”

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course it’s in different spots, the cycle makes it move. It’s a forgein body in our atmosphere. I just - you are an elected official. You are my VP. How are you so…”

“So what?”

“Unaware!” He sputtered. “You’re my Vice President!”

“Yeah, and I’m a damn good one, too. So watch your mouth before you start talking shit, Wilbur. Thankfully, the moon has nothing to do with politics. So we’re good for now.”

Wilbur couldn’t do anything but sigh, again and again. “The moon has nothing to do with politics, yes, but science does. Right?” He kept leading them through the fields as the sun rose higher and higher in the cornflower sky. “This is what I get for choosing a teenager.” He muttered to himself.

“The fact that I’m younger has nothing to do with anythin’.” He started to get more riled up, pointing a finger aggressively at Wilbur. “You’re already at the end of your days, Will. It’s tragic, twenty-four is really cuttin’ it close. Hope you have a last will and testament ready, it’ll be read soon.”

“Oh, what’ll you do then?” Wilbur smirked. “You can’t make it out of here without me. You can’t even find where the sun is, let alone see the ground right in front of you.”

“I can see the ground just fine, thank you very much!“ And as soon as those words left his mouth, he tripped.

He was able to catch himself, thankfully, stumbling a bit but managing to get his feet under himself just in time to keep him upright. Once he had his balance, he straightened up and adjusted his hat. Everything paused for a moment, and then he spoke. “Let’s agree that nobody saw that.”

Wilbur chuckled. “Do you need any help?”

“I literally just said you didn’t see that, are you going deaf, old man?” He brushed the front of his jacket off and huffed.

This same banter continued for the first leg of their journey. It was a safe distraction from the mosquitos in their pants and the sweat on their brows. By the time Wilbur considered taking a break, the sun was up much higher and the air was much warmer. The breeze was a welcomed cool kiss against their skin. 

“Let’s find some food, alright?” Wilbur rolled up his sleeves when they stopped. He leaned against a tree and caught his breath as Tommy stretched his legs.

“Are we finally gonna get a real meal and not grass? If you’re planning on feeding me grass for dinner again, friend, then you’re about to get a few strong complaints coming your way.” 

“The goal is no grass. The goal is meat.” Wilbur placed a strong hand on the hilt of his sword. “The question is ‘how’, though.” He started to glance around. “I can skin anything so just keep an eye out.”

Tommy’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, “How? Wilbur, we can just make traps to catch somethin’, not that hard at all.” He cracked his knuckles then tapped a finger on his chin, examining the surrounding area with the eye of a hunter’s son. “Yeah...Yeah, I think there’s enough, eh, ‘supplies’ around here to build ourselves somethin’ worthwhile. Leave it to me.”

“You do that. I’ll try the old fashioned way. The more meat the merrier.” He stepped forward and pat Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m heading in that direction.” He pointed towards some pines in the north. “I won’t be more than one hundred paces from you. You stay here in this field. Alright? Call if you need anything.”

“Right-o, captain.” Tommy saluted and watched as Wilbur marched off.

Tommy had gotten to work quickly setting up an animal trap, and in little to no time at all, he got results. This didn’t surprise him. He was a natural, always had been. He was raised on making different types of snares and hooks and cages. His father taught him well before he left and he had an eye for detail. And he used the traps for everything. 

The first time he met Tubbo, back in a Dreamland middle school, he remembered getting a feeling of fierce protectiveness towards this gentle boy who had saved a baby bird during recess. The bullies had been mocking him and taunting him, and Tommy was having none of it. He had set up a tree snare one day after school, and waited until the bullies fell into it. They were yanked high into the air, dangling from the tree, and Tubbo had smiled. He had laughed. And Tommy had introduced himself.

“You owe me big time, buddy.” Tommy had said, grinning with missing teeth. “They won’t be messing with you again any time soon.”

Tommy’s traps on this day worked just as effectively. Although, the prey wasn’t what he expected. A poor fox had trotted by and sniffed at the planted berries, allowing everything to fall right into place. This was good - nice meat, nice fur. This part made Tommy very pleased.

However, when he approached the little guy, he found himself unable to do the deed. He stood there with his sword on his hip, just staring. It was terrified, yelling and thrashing as he neared it. Now that he thought of it, he didn’t know why he decided on a non-lethal trap. It just made things harder for him in the long run. He chalked it up to habit and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword.

One breath. Two. 

But he just couldn’t.

He tried to pull his sword out of its sheath. He wanted to bring something back to eat, he did, he really did. But something in him was screaming at him to not do it, that he could find another solution to their hunger problem. Maybe it was Tubbo’s voice in the back of his head, the kid who stopped to save worms off roads after rainy days. 

Maybe it was the fear in the fox’s eyes. 

He couldn’t do it. He wasn’t going to be able to kill it himself and bring it home. His expression turned sympathetic and he groaned, cupping his hands and yelling into the woods. “Wilbur! I caught something! But I need you to come, uh, examine it for me.” He lied, hoping Wilbur would spare him the embarrassment and just take care of the issue himself.

Wilbur returned shortly with a small and simple rabbit that he caught on pure accident. He wasn’t the hunting type - thanks to his family, he never had to be. His father did the hunting and he did the skinning and tanning. He was much more artful than aggressive - more inclined to books than brawn. So when he had his rabbit in tow, he was proud.

Wilbur walked back with the kill in one hand and his dirtied sword in the other. “What did you get, then?” He walked closer and leaned down. “Oh, brilliant, Tommy. Here, hold this.” He passed his bloodied bunny off to the other and adjusted his sword in his palm. “This is good. This is enough meat to get us to the sea. You want to hold it still while I get the head, yeah?”

“Uhh...” He sounded unsteady. “Don’t you think it looks a little, uh, scrappy? A little sickly, one would say.” He pointed at the scared fox in question. “I think, if we eat that, it’ll give us- it’ll give us disease, Wilbur. A disease! We can’t handle getting diseases right now, we’ve got...,uh, a sea to get to, right?” He stammered his way through excuses.

Wilbur’s face fell into a grim somber neutrality. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Tommy, possibly even better than Tommy knew himself. Wilbur stepped ahead until he was blocking his sight line towards the trap. “Tommy, how about you set up a fire for us, yeah? You remember how to do that, right?”

“Uh...yeah? I think so.” Tommy nodded.

“Good. Go set the fire then.”

Tommy silently thanked the Lord above and nodded. “Yeah, I can do that, and I’ll do it better than you did.” He gave the other a small thumbs up and turned, trudging off to a small clearing he saw through the trees to test his skills with the sticks and the grass and the attempt at making a fire.

When he had finished collecting all the forest scraps he needed, he knelt down and promised himself that he would get it right this time. He tried to follow the steps Wilbur had taught him the night prior, but he hadn’t really listened all that well if he was to be honest, so he went with winging it with vague guidelines instead.

With luck and sheer willpower alone, smoke began to plume from the end of the stick and his face stretched into one of pure joy and bewilderment. He began muttering to himself and rocking back and forth like a madman. “Yes, yes, yes. Pogchamp. This is  _ very _ pogchamp. I'm going to rub this in Wilbur’s smug, tall, stupid face so hard when he gets back!”

“Is it up yet?” Wilbur said suddenly and loudly, standing there with the fox and rabbit in his hands.

Tommy jumped and the stick flung as far away from his grasp as it could, reverting all progress he had made on the fire. He clenched his jaw and turned around to glare at Wilbur with hatred of a hundred freshly bathed cats. Instead of saying anything, he just threw his hands in the air and stood up, walking to the opposite end of the clearing in complete silence.

Wilbur clenched his jaw and got to work setting the fire himself. He wanted to make this easy for Tommy, but it was hardly easy for himself. Once the fire was started, he got to work skinning the small creatures. If he couldn’t give any emotional solace to his bloodless brother, he could give him food. 

When he sat down, he flexed his foot and winced. It was bleeding. He could feel the stickiness in his sock. All this walking wasn’t what his clothes were made for. They needed new things, stat. He reached up and unbuttoned the top of his baggy white shirt and pulled off his cravat. He threw it in the dirt and fanned his neck. “It’s too bloody hot.”

Tommy paced in circles for a few very short moments, muttering and stomping out his anger on the mushy forest floor, occasionally kicking stray rocks at trees. Of course, however, his tantrum didn’t last long. He eventually marched his way back over to his companion, shielding the sun from his eyes as he glared at Wilbur. “I almost had it, you know.” He gestured angrily at the now-lit fire. “I had it and you ruined it.”

“I ruined it?” Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Are you referring to the fox, the fire or something else?” He muttered.

Tommy’s expression fell sour, eyebrow twitching in shock. He couldn’t tell if Wilbur was trying to make an ill-timed joke or not, and that just made him feel worse. Was it all in jest, or had he made a mistake? He felt a wave of shame wash over him, shoulders tensing as he let the silence settle around them for a brief moment. “I meant the fire and you know it, jackass.” He gave him a look before shifting his weight and finally sitting down near the fire, keeping a small distance from his friend. “I’m sorry.”

Wilbur softened up and scooted a bit closer to Tommy. “Oh. The fire. Of course. You are correct. You did have it. And I’m proud of you for having it.” After the fire was properly blazing, he started to get to work cooking their food. “Next time, it’s all yours. It was my fault for interrupting you.” He gave him a half-smile.

Tommy didn’t show any signs of forgiveness, staring blankly into the fire as the embers crackled and sparked off onto the roasting meat. He was one to let his emotions fester - and he would probably remember this interaction for days, whether he meant to or not. He held his silence for a while until it began to deafen him. “How long until we make it to the sea?”

“Shouldn’t be long. I can focus on navigating, you focus on staying alive.” Wilbur said. When the food was done, he gave most of it to Tommy with no hesitation. “Come on. Eat up. We need to keep walking as soon as we can. We don’t know if we’re being followed.”

“You’d think that if we were followed, we’d be dead by now, right?” Tommy began picking at his meal, pulling bits off with dirty fingers and popping them in his mouth as he continued to speak. “We’re weak. If someone’s following us, they’re either friendly or stupid.”

“You don’t know Schlatt like I know him, Tommy.” He shook his head. “We wouldn’t be following to kill us.”

Tommy glanced over at Wilbur, raising an eyebrow. “Then why the fuck would anyone be following us in the first place? Humor me, Will.”

“Schlatt plays the long game. We were banished, not executed.” He wagged his finger. “That detail is very important.” Wilbur looked up at the sun. “We only have a few hours until sunset. Curse the end of summer, yeah?” He looked down and ate the small portion he saved for himself.

“We shouldn’t stay here much longer, then. We gotta keep moving.” He looked down at his tattered clothes then out to the sky, listening to the local wildlife bustle around them. “How do you think the others are doing? Tubbo and Niki...Do you think they’re alright?” He asked hesitantly, keeping his eyes away from Wilbur’s, not daring to see his expression - afraid it would betray what he didn’t want to hear.

Wilbur's face stayed stone-like. His eyes stared at his hands and didn't flitter anywhere else. He inhaled sharply. "Niki is a smart woman. And you know Tubbo is a survivor. All Lives are. I know they are fine. And they'll stay fine." He stood up. "But we should get them out the first chance we get." And with that, he stomped out the fire. "Finish up. Let's go."

Tommy downed the last of his meal and wiped his hands off on his pants. Pushing himself off the ground and to his feet, he brushed himself off and grimaced. “I don’t want to underestimate Tubbo now, but I don’t trust Schlatt as far as I could throw him. Which isn’t really a good saying seeing as how I could probably toss him a good few kilometers with my giant muscles.” He flexed his wimpy arms for show. “But seriously, I’m worried that Schlatt is going to hurt Tubbo. Tubbo’s a big man, yeah, but Schlatt is ruthless apparently.”

“We’re on the same page.” Wilbur said. “But we can’t do anything to help Tubbo if we don’t help ourselves.”

Truer words had yet to be spoken. But little did the two know, they did have a shadow following far behind - one that was ready to lift weight from their shoulders and put faith in their hearts.


	4. Chapter Four: I Think, Therefore I Am

**Je Pense, Donc Je Suis**

_ I Think, Therefore I Am _

There are many pieces in this little game. Lots of moving parts, lots of names and faces. It’s easy for the everyman to be forgotten during a time like this - and this particular everyman was no stranger to being forgotten. 

He was a rare species of sorts. He was a fox, up and down a total creature of the underbrush. He was born of man and fae, making him someone with a sharp mind and agile body but with no real grasp on how to exist. He was a good man though. He had a noble heart and good intentions above all else. 

But he was also very, very alone. And had been as long as he could remember. 

"Just the man I wanted to see!" Schlatt's hooves banged against the floor as he walked around his desk with his hands outstretched. The target of his attention stood with his hat in his hands, his bright and fluffy orange ears angled downwards and his snout pointed to the ground. "Colonel Fundy. How are you doing on this fine little evening?"

The foxman flinched as Schlatt's hands landed on his shoulders and shook him. "Fine, Mr. President. Just fine." His green eyes fluttered up to meet the other’s. They were hardened from war, but held a bright spark of some kind of ragefire from years ago.

"And I assume you've met my right hand man, eh? Q!" Schlatt turned around and pointed to the man standing to the side of the desk. "Quackity, this is Colonel Fundy! The one I keep talking about!"

Fundy let himself be dragged forward to shake Vice President Quackity’s hand with his paw. He was mindful of his claws, although that was difficult with Quackity’s overly-enthusiastic grip. Quackity was shorter than him, and seemed significantly more frail. This was a man who rarely went outside.

“ _ Oh-hohoho _ , look at him, look at his face! He hardly knows what big of a day this is for him!” Quackity replied, squeezing Fundy’s hand one last time before finally letting go. “Glad to have you here, bud!”

“Likewise.” Fundy shook out his wrist. “Thank you both for having me. I know you all must be very busy.” Everything he said sounded too rehearsed. Perhaps it was. Perhaps he had to rehearse all his answers from birth, just in case.

“Busy? Please!” Schlatt cried. “Running a country right is easy with the right team. I’m sure your father would say the same thing.” 

The late nights where Wilbur kicked Fundy out of his office said otherwise. But Fundy had learned when to keep his mouth shut, so he learned how to answer this. “I’m sure.”

"Now, Colonel. Any guesses on why we're calling for you?" Schlatt leaned back to sit on the front of his desk, his seedy eyes boring into Fundy's. "I'm sure you know the answer but I want you to guess."

After a moment of thinking, Fundy looked up at the two of them. "Is this about my father?" A look of utter disgust crossed over his eyes. It was just a flash, just a little slip in the mask, but Schlatt noticed. And it made Schlatt bare his teeth in a rancid smile.

“We’ve got a winner!” Quackity shouted, slamming his fists on the desk in celebration. “This guy’s got a good head on his shoulders, Schlatt. A big furry head.”

“Very furry.” Schlatt nodded approvingly. His own goat ears flicked as he spoke.

“I can tell he’s the kind of guy who can help you with your old man Sunday paper crossword puzzles!” Quackity said.

Annoyance bled into Schlatt's expression for just a moment. In a flash, it was gone, and Schlatt was smiling again. "Fundy, Fundy, Fundy. I want to offer you something. But I need to get you to answer a few questions before I can. You know how it is, don't you?"

Fundy's body was radiating discomfort. "Of course."

“Get his ass with those terms and conditions, baby, show him what’s good.” Quackity said, adjusting his dark sunglasses on his nose. He crossed his arms in front of him. He was practically wiggling with excitement.

Fundy unconsciously took a half-step back before correcting his perfect military posture.

“Quackity, come on!” Schlatt said. “You’re making the kid uncomfortable.”

Quackity cleared his throat. “Sorry, Schlatt.” He recoiled.

“Now, what was I saying?” He said gruffly. “Ah! Yes. Fundy. I need you to answer a question for me honestly. I’m looking for genuine feedback on my administration, all right? You can be honest with me. Now...How do you feel about everything that went down with Wilbur?”

Fundy’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“Do you not get the question?” Schlatt asked.

“No, sir. It’s not that.” Fundy shook his head. “I just…I just seem unsure of why you’re asking. I chased him out with the rest of the first battalion as I was told.”

“I'm just interested in knowing. Your father was very influential. How do you feel about him?” He crossed his arms. “I saw you on the big day. I saw your face. And I have to be honest, Colonel. I was in shock! You looked so...Damn, Fundy. You looked so blank. You looked almost content! Can I say that?”

Fundy didn’t respond. He was caught off guard, and his tail was bristling. He smoothed down the hem of his army coat as he tried to find words. He didn’t mean to make it so obvious - his apathy, that is. He thought he had hidden it well under years of military training.

“You looked so passive.” Schlatt said. “Your father was  _ banished _ . Your father was finally being treated like the danger he always was. And you didn’t even frown. How do you feel about your dad?”

“Remember, your daddy issues are nothing to be ashamed of.” Quackity chimed in.

“They aren’t.” Schlatt shook his head. “My papa was banished too, when I was very young.” He sighed. “Truly. Fathers aren’t worth the oxygen they breathe.”

The foxman spoke after ample silence. His face became stone, his expression hard and his eyes blank. “My father founded this nation. But that’s it. That’s all he ever did. Nothing more. I hold my loyalty to this land. Not one man.”

Quackity raised his eyebrows, clapping his hands together. “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it, Schlatt?” He looked at the other man eagerly.

Schlatt nodded and stood, walking back behind his desk as a grin started to overtake his face. "Yes it is, Q, yes it is! That means we can give Fundy his gift."

Fundy’s head shot up, ears cocking. "Gift, sir?"

“It’s like Christmas up in this place! Happy early birthday, kid!” Quackity leaned a hand on the desk. “Break the news to him, Schlatt! I’m getting antsy.”

Schlatt’s mouth curled into a sly smile. "Fundy, I want to offer you the best thing that the business world has to offer: a promotion."

“I should have brought champagne for the occasion.” Quackity shook his head, then turned to Schlatt. “I don’t think he’s ever been promoted before! I know dear old dad never did him any favors with that. I’ve read his files. Tell me, Fundy, have you ever been promoted before?”

Fundy nodded slowly. His snout twitched. "A few times? Possibly? I mean, in what way?"

Schlatt sat down in his chair and folded his hands on the desk. "I want to make you head of the army. The General! The General of the whole army. I want you right here, with me, changing this nation from the inside out! I want us, Fundy, to work together to fix everything your father broke. We can mend the wounds he left."

“Dear old dad can’t hold you back anymore.” Quackity noted smugly. “Isn’t this great? You have  _ power _ now, Fundy, and I can promise you from experience that it’s just as good as it sounds.”

“How does that feel,  _ General _ Fundy?” Schlatt asked. “Are you on board with us?”

Fundy closed his eyes for a moment before nodding. Even though his insides were flipping, his choice was quick to make. “Yes, sir. I’m honored.” He bowed his head.

“Awesome, awesome, awesome! Welcome to the family, General!” Quackity whooped. “We’re so glad to finally talk to someone with basic fucking common sense. I can just tell that you have a lot of potential inside. You don’t know how many people we’ve gone through, and the gallows - “

Schlatt cleared his throat and Quackity went silent. “I agree. He has so much potential.” Schlatt leaned back in his seat. “And I’m sure that whatever good parent part of your father that still festers in him deep down would be so proud of you. Don’t you agree?”

Fundy’s grip increased on his hat. His smile tightened. “No. I don’t.”

Schlatt cocked an eyebrow. His eyes flashed with something unreadable, something dark and heavy. But he simply looked delighted. “Quackity, pin the military shit on his jacket.”

Quackity wasted no time pulling out various sharp, colorful objects. He practically skipped over to Fundy’s side, invading his personal space without hesitation. Even with his eagerness, he still took his time to not stab himself or Fundy with the pins in the process. He did, however, help himself to feeling Fundy’s bicep through his jacket, his face turning into one of pure shock and awe. “Oh, General Fundy, you’re hiding some guns under this lousy old jacket! God damn!”

Fundy seemed to cower at that. “Uh...thanks? I think?” He frowned in confusion. 

“Don’t scare the kid, he just became a man today! At least wait a damn second before trying to harass every person in the damn city.” Schlatt cried.

“Schlatt, it is my job to protect our citizens and that responsibility comes with having to safety check weapons of mass destruction.” Quackity said as he finally released Fundy’s arm.

“Jesus...don’t do that shit in front of me, alright? Just...ugh. Anyways.” Schlatt sneered. “General Fundy, we honor your loyalty. Now. Let’s get to work! Let’s rebuild this place from the ground up!”

“Wait, Schlatt.” Quackity interrupted the moment of celebration. “Don’t do what?”

Schlatt waved over his entire body with his hand. “That.”

“What? You told me to be more interactive, that’s what I’m doing here, man.” Quackity said, confused, splaying his hands outwards in surrender.

“Interactive, not  _ sexually _ active.” He growled.

“Look, man, I’m just doing my thing here and I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking to me right now.”

Fundy took another half-step backwards in silence. This was worse than all the times he stood here watching Wilbur argue when he was a child. This was much more awkward. Schlatt and Quackity were much more intense. And there was this tension between both of them - like they would want nothing more than to deck each other in the face, but something was holding them in place.

“You know, I don’t like your tone, Q.” Schlatt said. “General Fundy, do you appreciate Q’s tone?”

Fundy’s tail twitched nervously. “I, uh...”

“ _ My _ tone? Excuse the fuck out of me, Mr. President, but I’m not the one with a tone issue here.” He said with a tone, pointing aggressively in Schlatt’s direction.

“Don’t make me have to straighten you out again. We’ve talked about this a million times over.” Schlatt pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t be up here and question me in front of the civilians. Now, look, you’re embarrassing me in front of the General!”

Fundy’s ears were flat against his head and his hackles were raised. He didn’t respond at all.

“Oh, I’m embarrassing you?”

“Yeah!”

“That’s rich coming from someone who made a fucking fool out of me in front of everyone during yesterday’s speech!” Quackity took a step towards Schlatt. “You act all high and mighty up on your throne that I helped you sit on and all you do is treat me like a joke!”

“Q, sit down now or else!” Schlatt’s voice took on an edge. A dark edge, commanding and unhinged and it made Fundy quiver. Schlatt turned to Fundy and smiled tightly. “Go get to work, General.”

“Yes, Mr. President!” He said, happy to take this excuse to rush out the door. He scurried down the hall, away from the raised voices, his inner five-year-old holding back tears of anxiety.

When Fundy was gone, Schlatt stood up slowly. “I’m going to have you answer a few questions.” His voice seemed to get lower in pitch.

Quackity found himself standing down without hesitation. He felt anger swirl in his chest but couldn’t find the courage to continue the argument. However, he still held his gaze, glaring at Schlatt through dark lenses as he anticipated his next move. “Oh, great, I love surveys.” He scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“What is a president?” Schlatt asked, walking rhythmically towards the smaller man.

“A democratically elected government official who poses as the staple of a country.” He deadpanned.

“And what is a Vice President?” He stopped in front of the other.

Quackity remained silent, knowing whatever description he could give wouldn’t be good enough.

Schlatt leaned in, his yellow-slitted eyes narrowed. “Are you fucking deaf?” He said slowly, firmly, each word weighted in just the right way to send shivers up a spine.

“What are you getting out of this?” Quackity snapped.

“I’m reminding you of where you stand.” He said. “I am the President. You are the  _ Vice  _ President. I am above you. You are here to help me. That includes keeping your mouth shut when I ask you to shut it.”

“You want me to obey, like, what, a dog? Are you serious right now, Schlatt?” Quackity’s eyebrows drew in. “I’m not your fucking mutt, man.”

"You are what I say you are." His teeth flashed in the moonlight pouring in from the window. "If you're my dog, then you're my dog. And you'll bark when I say. And you’ll  _ sit  _ when I tell you to. And you’ll  _ beg.  _ Because here's the thing, Quackity. I promised you a path to greatness. I promised you the presidency when I'm done. But you have to listen to me, Quackity." He reached up and cupped Quackity’s cheek. “It’s been a long time, Q, but I remember my promise.”

The promise. The promise made with hissed words in the cover of dark. Quackity had just started law school, and he received mysterious millions from a donor who only signed his letters with an ‘S’. That money was the only way he could get through the expensive Dreamland school. Every letter, smuggled in from a man banished long ago, pledged the same thing from this stranger: ‘I promise you greatness.’ 

Even after the banishment, Quackity had held onto  _ something.  _ And so when Schaltt turned back up years later with a new body and a new plan, he was simply just hard to resist.

Quackity remained silent, beginning to feel the weight of Schlatt’s words. Nothing he could say would help his case, and he sadly accepted that the only way out of this argument was to comply. But he also felt a small ounce of joy bubble in him - because Schlatt  _ cared.  _ He just didn’t know how to show it.

He  _ remembered _ . And Quackity didn’t regret teaming up with him if he remembered.

The word ex-fiance still included the word fiance, by right if not by emotion.

Schlatt pat Quackity’s cheek. “See? Now you’re starting to get it. Attaboy.”

Quackity felt the urge to flinch away, but refrained. Instead he leaned into it. “I get it, I get it.” He glanced around the room, his shoulders relaxing. His gaze landed on the wall clock above the door and his eyebrows rose. “Hey, uh, Schlatt? Aren’t we running a little late for something?”

“See, that's why I keep you around.” He adjusted his jacket. “This is where the fun begins.” He started his way to the door. “Let’s make history.”

Quackity brushed his jacket off where Schlatt had nearly touched, following closely behind. “I’ll go grab George from his office. The last thing we need is for him to sleep through another town event.”

George, in fact, was sleeping. Much like he used to do in law school, he was asleep on top of all of his books and papers. Perhaps his all nighters were catching up with him, perhaps he simply got fed up. No one could usually tell. But no matter what, he could usually be found either working or asleep. 

Mostly asleep, though. At least these days.

When Quackity would come to George back in their school days, he would have gently shook him awake with coffee and a soft smile. He was much more understanding back then - annoyed that someone who slept so much could be ahead of him in his marks, but still understanding.

But all understanding flew out the window the moment George coerced him into running for this stupid political position with the promise of building a better L’Manberg.

What utter bollox.

Quackity didn’t bother even knocking on George’s office door, instead opting to throw the door open full strength. A loud crash emitted from the door hitting the wall, closely followed by Quackity’s words clanging through the air. “Alright. C’mon. Get up.” He said, clapping his hands obnoxiously. “Georgie, we have a meeting in five minutes. You need to get up, man.”

George jolted up, blinking hard. “What?!” He cried, startled. His breathing steadied and he slumped back into his chair when he realized there was no threat, only Quackity. “Oh...Lord, help me.” He muttered. He brought a hand to his chin to wipe away a strand of drool.

“Dude, you’ve been doing this since we were in school.” Quackity reprimanded, flicking on the overhead redstone lamp. “You seriously gotta get out of this habit.”

“It’s not a habit, it’s just work.” George groaned. “But that being said, thank you for grabbing me.” He pushed his chair away from his desk. “I forgot all about the ambassador meeting.”

Quackity rolled his eyes. “Duh, that’s why I came here to get you in the first place. I’m the only one in this godforsaken office that knows what the hell time management is.”

"And you're a blessing for that." George stood up. "Where the hell are my glasses?"

Quackity just blankly stared at George, letting the silence fall over the two of them. He debated on letting George look around like an idiot, but they didn’t have all day. Instead, he pointed at the top of his head. “You’re wearing them...”

George cleared his throat after an embarrassingly long second. He brought the glasses down from his head to cover his eyes. "Oh. Well. Fabulous. Let's go then." He smoothed his button-down and headed to the door. "Is the President already there?"

“Of course.” Quackity followed behind George. “As his right hand man, I would never let him miss an important meeting like this.”

George didn't like the way that sounded. It made his skin feel sticky. "Well, good on you."

“Thanks. Unlike some people, I take pride in my position.” 

“I take lots of pride in mine.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. That’s why you have a bird’s nest on your head and morning breath.” Quackity sneered. He shook his head, walking ahead of George. “Now follow me. We’re already late and I know Schlatt’s gonna be pissed enough as is.”

“Sorry I’m disrupting you two’s happy hour.” George muttered.

George followed Quackity through the halls of the building, holding packets and packets of papers in his arms, splayed against his chest like a breastplate. This meeting would go smoothly. This would be  _ fine _ . Schlatt could be a bit overpowering, but this? This  _ had _ to go smoothly. Because the future of Dreamland depended on it. As long as Schlatt didn't go off script, this would be lovely. Thanks to being Dream’s family lawyer for quite a while, George was used to improvising.  _ That  _ was a family of people who only want to speak their mind. But Schlatt was a different breed.

If he went off script, this would turn into an event.

They approached the conference room and Quackity wasted no time swinging the doors open with ease. “We apologize for the wait. Thank you everyone for being with us this evening.” Quackity spoke before even scanning his eyes over the room, quickly ushering himself to the empty chair beside Schlatt to his right.

On the other side of the table sat two men, one short and stocky and the other tall and lanky. The shorter one spoke up. “Not a problem, Vice President Quackity.” 

Then the taller nodded. “However, this was certainly a low start, so we pray the rest of this meeting will be... orderly.” His voice bled snark, glancing at the messy papers and bedhead George brandished.

Schlatt scowled. “You have a problem with my Georgie?” He motioned for George to sit on his other side. “I can assure you, both my cabinet members are always on top of their game.”

“I’m sure.” The taller man glanced to Quackity, then George, then to Schlatt. He let out a huff.

“Sirs, are you aware we’re making history today?” George tried to dive into his classic spiel. “This is the first time that any ambassadors from Dreamland have met with any officials from L’Manberg - let alone with Manberg.”

“ _ Manberg?”  _ The shorter man spat.

“A subtle name change.” Schlatt said. “To set my term apart.”

The room fell silent with an air of cramped malaise before the short man spoke up. “Alrighty then, let’s get down to business. For Manberg.”

“As we recall from the letters here, you wish to...form an alliance with Dreamland.” The taller spat with each word.

“Yes. Of course.” Schlatt said, leaning forward. 

Quackity nodded. “With a promise of the best foreign aid you all will  _ ever  _ receive.” 

“This is, of course, the last offer we can provide.” George said. “I have every document we can show you to hopefully give any kind of incentive. We have seen improvement in record time. We want to provide the same services for Dreamland.”

The taller man sighed. “Listen, as the advisors of Dreamland’s court, we have to answer to those higher than us before we can use our better judgement.”

“And as we all know, Lord Dream has already declared for no alliances to be formed in his absence.” The shorter man said. “And, no offense to you, President Schlatt, but after reviewing your extensive criminal record - “

“We would be fools to agree to such a clumsy and ill-thought move.” Finished the taller.

“Extensive? What do you mean ‘extensive’?” Schlatt asked.

The two men looked at each other, then the shorter began flipping through his briefcase, pulling out a thick red binder with the spine titled ‘J Schlatt’ then handed it to the taller man.

The taller man flipped open to the first page. “Let’s see here...Ah, here. We have tax evasion, robbery, assault, public nudity, disturbing the peace - “

Schlatt cleared his throat. “That’s more than enough, thank you. I see.” His eyes darted to his two lawyers.

Quackity caught his gaze and nervously began to sort through the papers in his stack. “Listen, fellas, our president has already served the time required by Dreamland to atone for everything.”

“With all due respect, Vice President, but save it.” The tall man said. “He served time for one of his crimes. Technically he only served time for the assassination of a royal individual. Even if, for some reason, we saw a reason to allow this dodgy alliance, we can’t in good conscience team up with someone who owes years and years in prison.”

“The Lord’s word is law.” Finished the short man.

“Law in  _ that _ land.” George said, holding out a paper. “Technically, according to Wilbur Soot’s sanctuary policy placed during the First War, he is pardoned of all crimes on Manberg soil. So since he is not beholden to Dreamland’s laws, it can not be held against him in legal negotiations. And Schlatt’s new laws follow the template of the realm’s requirements so it’s fully legal in all ways for him to do everything he desires with Dreamland.”

Silence fell over the two men before they looked at each other, then back at the others. The short man spoke. “...is this a joke?”

“What may be legal for you here, President Schlatt, still does not erase the fact that it is illegal for us and everyone else involved to go against the word of the Lord.” Insisted the tall man.

“I believe the outcome of this argument is nonnegotiable.” said the short man.

“The word of the Lord is optional.” Schlatt said. “The Lord is just some guy at the end of the day. So his words are very much so optional. What can I do to convince that to you?”

The men shook their heads in tandem. The taller spoke up. “Sorry, Mr. President, but in our land, the Lord's word is law.”

“There’s simply no arrangement that we could organize for this to work out. We formally apologize.” said the shorter.

“Well, I think Lord Dream’s word is optional.” Schlatt said. He tapped on the table with his knuckle, biting the inside of his cheek. His eyes were dark, empty. But his face was cocky. “You know what? To hell with him.” He leaned back and kicked his feet into the table, sending papers flying. 

George dived for the documents, his stomach flipping. “President Schlatt, we really should - “

“I’m dropping the walls.” Schlatt said.

Quackity’s eyes widened as he recoiled from the commotion. “What? No! Schlatt, that’s basically declaring - “

The shorter man jumped in shock, taking a stand and hiding behind the taller one, who was entirely unfazed. The tall man sighed, then straightened his tie. “Are you sure about that decision, Mr. President?”

“I’m so sure about that decision that I’ll say it again.” He started to laugh, dismissive and playful. “I’m dropping the walls around Manberg against Dream Boy’s wishes. As soon as this weekend. And I’ll have Quackity here draft a declaration of war himself, so you can get all that sexy fine print you leeches love so much. I’m  _ dropping  _ the walls,  _ breaking  _ Dreamland’s laws, and I’m proud of it.”

Quackity looked over to Schlatt with fear glimmering in his dark eyes. “Schlatt, I - “ He began, but the look in Schlatt’s eyes sent chills through his core. He sputtered and changed course. “...I’ve already got a rough draft going in my head, sir. Right away, sir.”

The shorter man was practically vibrating from the intense air around them. The taller man appeared to be dampened, as if he expected a better outcome. He picked up his own briefcase that had previously been set to the floor. “Alright then. Well, gentleman, it’s been a less than productive evening with you all, but I believe matters here are finished. We will bring the news to the Lord as soon as possible and we can begin discussing the terms at a later date.”

"Let us three walk you all out. It's been a pleasure having you all here." Schlatt said.

George was standing and picking at his tie before anyone could say another word. "Yes, well. Right this way." He shot Quackity a panicked look. He was lightheaded from the adrenaline rush. It felt like he was at sea, tossed about in a boat by a destructive wind.

Quackity scurried up as quickly as possible and brushed the front of his jacket. He gave George a nod and Schlatt a nervous glance. How would he even have the courage to draft up a declaration of war? This is the opposite of what he ever wanted.

The shorter man was still in shock, shaking and using the taller man as a shield between himself and the others. The taller man didn’t seem to mind as he calmly nodded. “Thank you, gentleman.” They allowed the two of them to be escorted out of the hall with little fuss.

As Schlatt walked between the two men, keeping up small talk, he snapped at one of the guards offhandedly. “Get George his things, please.”

George glanced over at Quackity, where they walked next to each other behind the ambassadors. “Things?” He whispered.

Quackity was just as confused as George was. He glanced at Schlatt, then back at George, shrugging his shoulders a little aggressively. The entire situation was leaving his skin crawling. He knew Schlatt wasn't joking about any of the war business, and he knew this calm persona he was putting on was just a quiet current before a tsunami.

He had run with the promise of preventing anything like this ever again. And now here he was.

Schlatt made a few more casual jokes when the group reached the large door exiting the government offices. He bid them a final goodbye, patting them both on the back a bit too harshly, before watching them both walk down the front stairs and start down the path that led away. 

After brief seconds of silence, where the night wind and the anxious heartbeat in the two lawyer’s ears were the only sounds, Schlatt turned to Quackity. “Q, I have a question for you.”

"Yes, sir?" Quackity replied. "What is it?"

“How many people does it take to deliver a message?”

Quackity's eyebrows creased. “What?”

“How many people does it take to tell Dreamland our message?” He repeated, slower and angrier.

Quackity swallowed. "...One, sir?" As Quackity said that, the guard from earlier handed George his bow and quiver of arrows, obviously taken from his bedroom just moments before. George’s knuckles turned white as he gripped them.

Schlatt smirked. “Precisely. One.” He turned to Quackity again. “Would you say that George is a good shot?”

Quackity's heart was racing. He could taste plasma in his mouth. "He’s as good of a shot as he is a lawyer. Even more so, I’d say.”

“Even in the dark?” 

Quackity nodded.

George’s skin was hot with fear. “Um...sir?”

Schlatt turned to George with a new type of glint in his eye. It was hard, firm, sharp as iron and as terrifying as the monsters that prowled at night. “I don’t like the way the tall guy talked to me, Georgie. Do you?”

George’s eyes darted between Quackity and Schlatt. “Uh...No. I thought he was, like, rude. I think.” He was stuttering over his words. He just wanted to say the right thing.

“I think people should learn some manners. Don’t you two?”

Quackity's eyes widened. He was shaking his head. "You seriously can't be thinking of...Schlatt, they're just doing their jobs!”

“And people who are shitty at their jobs should be fired.” Schlatt was starting to smile wider. “Right? This is a smooth operation we’re running here, Q!” He laughed. “Can’t let anything get in the way of that. So, uh. Georgie. What’s your title again? Sir Whatever of Community and Fuckall? Yeah.” Schlatt pointed at the taller man, who was getting further and further down the path. “Fire him for me.”

“You can’t be serious!” Quackity cried, incredulous. “George, you can’t - “

“Q, shut the fuck up before I start thinking you’re bad at your job too.” Schlatt said, his voice laced with too much confidence. Quackity shut his mouth pretty damn quick at that. Schlatt liked that. “Go on, Georgie.”

With trembling hands and blown-out pupils, George took an arrow and rose his bow to his eye level. He pulled back the string, and it was barely steady enough to balance the arrow. He glanced at Quackity one last time, an unreadable look in his eyes. Quackity matched eyes with George, a level of understanding shared between them. He then turned his head away.

George barely remembers letting the arrow fly. But he does so vividly remember the scream of the other ambassador when the tall man fell to the grass with a thud. 

There was an arrow through his throat. 

George never misses. 

Quackity flinched when the scream resounded in his ears. He felt like he was going to throw up without even seeing the damage they caused. He mumbled something under his breath about how disgusting this all was before retreating back into the hall, away from the injustice.

Schlatt clapped and laughed and wrapped his arm around George’s shoulders, his long nails digging into his arm. “Good boy! I knew you had the guts. Let’s meet tomorrow, George.” Schlatt said. “I think I have a promotion in mind for you.” He pat his shoulder before turning to walk back inside, chuckling the whole time.

And there it was. The darkness wasted no time spreading through the veins of L'Manberg. Innocents falling left and right at the hands of President Schlatt, justice having no place in a land of tyranny. A city, built on the ideals of truth and love, was dissolving before the citizen’s very eyes.

The blood of the ambassador watered the dying grass as the other raced his way back to Dreamland, desperate to warn the world of the growing evil right under their noses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments! My friend and I are collaborating on the creation of this and it's a story that means a lot to us. :)


	5. Chapter Five: Little By Little, The Bird Makes Its Nest

**Petit a Petit, L’Oiseau Fait Son Nid**

_ Little By Little, The Bird Makes Its Nest _

Days after Wilbur and Tommy’s journey had just begun, all the way across the countryside, a young lord was riding horseback through the woods at a calm, controlled speed. He was a master rider, which was a talent he never really used enough. Even if his hands and body were perfectly poised, elegantly balanced in a style of riding only known by the royals, his mind was tilted and unsteady. His head was full of worry, with questions of what if’s and regrets. Choices he had no control over plaguing his every thought and movement.

The forefront of Dream’s mind was to find his past enemies. His main actions reflected his desire to find the banished pair. But the back of his mind only shined with the two-toned eyes of his dear friend.

This journey would be easier with George by his side.

Under him, his speckled horse huffed in exhaustion. The poor horse had been traveling by his side for three whole days with little overnight rest. When the lord stopped his charge, pitching a tent and all, it was only for an hour or two. Time was precious right now. Lives hung in the balance. 

The process reminded him of when he was younger, when he was barely seven, dragged around by his parents with missing posters piled in the back of the wagon and tears drowning their masked faces. That was when the youngest member of the royal family disappeared into the night. Dream traveled a lot when his brother went missing - the family all did. Sleep was fleeting, fear was all-encompassing. 

The energy on that day was the same as now.

He gave his steed a gentle pat, pulling her to a stop and swinging his legs over the side of her. He slid off with ease, his cape falling behind him. “I won’t make you carry my heavy butt for much longer, Patches. I can walk. You deserve a break.” 

Patches made a small noise as he grabbed her reins and walked her alongside him. “Let’s find you some water, yeah? I think we both need it.” He patted the side of her neck and pushed forward.

Lord Dream listened closely to his surroundings, keeping an ear out for any possible sounds of water that could be around. And, of course, looking out for any sign of the two former L’Manberg leaders. In his pocket was a cravat, found in the dirt, near footsteps and a stomped out fire. Those were the only clues he had.

He didn’t need clues to water his horse, though. To his luck, he spotted a glistening lake just a bit ahead and he led Patches to it as fast as possible. The two of them reached the shore and Patches wasted no time dipping down for a drink. Dream petted her side lovingly as he took a look around the lake, taking in nature’s beauty as a way to give his mind peace for just a moment.

He couldn’t help but wonder what George had been doing as he wandered the forest. Was he safe? Was Tubbo safe? Or would he only return home empty-handed, to horrid news?

He was ripped from his thoughts rather quickly, though, as his eyes landed on something odd. Just across the lake, he saw something sticking out in contrast to the brilliant green of the trees. A bright blue coat hung precariously on a broken tree branch in the distance, sloppily camouflaged with dirt and leaves. To your average man, perhaps it would go unnoticed. But to someone like Dream, it stood out like a sore thumb. He could recognize that hue anywhere, he went to war with a nation of people covered head to toe in such a brilliant color. 

The worry in his mind cleared. As Patches had her fill of water, he wasted no time in making his way around the lake with her, crossing his fingers that both Wilbur and Tommy would be alive and safe on the other side. Niki’s smile danced behind his eyelids.

“Please.” He muttered to himself.

Meanwhile, under this coat was a shelter made of mud. A small fire burned in a corner, and the air was hot and barely ventilated. Inside this muggy dug-out hut, the missing leaders were a bit more than disgruntled. Wilbur and Tommy were bickering across their makeshift table made of sticks. Their skin was metallic with sweat. A map lay across the table between them, showing the many nations of their lands with L’Manberg circled and underlined. 

“No, no. No matter what you say, we are not doing that. No, sir.” Wilbur shook his head. “Think of a better idea.”

“Wilbur, we need help.” Tommy said. “We need to ask Eret and the kings from the other places! We need to ask the big guys for help!”

“The other kingdoms won’t help us. They have no reason to. And for all we know, Schlatt could be in business with them!” He cried. “What if we end up wandering into a trap?”

“You sound paranoid.” Tommy deadpanned. 

“I’m not paranoid! I’m being realistic.”

“No, you’re being dumb. You’re being dumb, Wilbur.”

“And you’re a naive child!” Wilbur cried.

“And both of you sound like naive children.” Lord Dream mused from the doorway of the hut. He had pushed the curtain of flora out of the way to reveal the two, and he was obviously smug in doing so. He leaned with his weight to one side, arms crossed and a smirk plastered under his mask.

Wilbur hopped up from the table, grabbing Tommy’s arm and pulling him up and behind him. Wilbur grabbed for his sword and unsheathed it, bracing himself with narrowed eyes. “Tommy, don’t move.” He said lowly.

That was a command that Tommy would actually listen to.

Dream’s appearance filled the two with utter dread. The scars from the First War were visible on their skin, but also ran deep in their minds. And they were not eager to have him here.

Dream rose his hands and waved them in front of him. “Relax, Mr. President. I’m not here to hurt you. Or your Vice.” He showed his open palms in surrender.

“Then why are you here?” Tommy bit back, crossing his arms and subconsciously running his thumb over the front of his shoulder.

“Tommy!” Wilbur snapped.

“Sorry.” He muttered, eyes cast away.

Dream tried to step forward, but Wilbur pointed his sword at his chest. 

“How did you even find us?” Wilbur narrowed his eyes.

Without another word, Dream pulled out the note Niki wrote and tossed it across the hut to Wilbur. “I rode to L’Manberg after the tournament had barely started. I left the second I got this. I didn’t tell anyone what happened, not even King Technoblade.” He held up both his hands. “I’m not here to fight. Read it.”

Wilbur snatched the paper out of the air and scanned his eyes over it. His face melted from defensive to drenched with worry, and his shoulders drooped. His sword began to droop. “Niki...” He muttered.

“Let me see, let me see!” Tommy whined, snatching the paper from Wilbur’s hand without a second thought. He read it over carefully. His features softened with every word and he looked at Dream with concerned eyes. “What about Tubbo?”

Dream nodded. “I talked to Tubbo.” Tommy’s eyes widened, but Dream cut him off before he could ask any questions. “He’s surviving. Schlatt’s got him wrapped up in something, but he’s surviving. As long as he plays his cards right, he’s safe.”

“You were in L’Manberg, then?” Wilbur asked. He lowered his sword, but didn’t tuck it away quite yet. “Did you speak to  _ him _ ?”

Dream crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Sadly. Regrettably. Yes.” He huffed. “It was just as displeasurable as you’d expect.”

“So you don’t side with him?” Wilbur furrowed his brow. 

“Why would I?”

“Because of the First War.” 

Dream looked between Wilbur and Tommy. “My hatred for J Schaltt runs deeper than any political squabble. He’s a dangerous man. And he needs to be stopped.”

Wilbur glanced over at Tommy before turning back to Dream again. “Why are you here then? What’s your plan?”

“Well, if we’re on the same page, it’s to take down Schlatt once and for all. And to help regain control over one of the most influential countries in the nation.” He spoke as if it was obvious, adjusting his mask. “As much as I hate to say it, L’Manberg is vital to the survival of the realm. I understand the consequences that come with someone like Schlatt being in control. Dreamland simply can’t have that level of threat rise against it. No one can.” Dream extended his hand to Wilbur. “What do you say, President Soot?”

“What do I say to what?”

“We should work together. Put our past of bloodshed aside for the greater good of our respective land.”

“What?” Wilbur was incredulous.

Tommy glanced to Dreams hand, then at Wilbur. He grabbed Wilbur’s shoulder and shook it. “Will, I...I think we should do this.”

Wilbur glared at Tommy until he let go. Then Wilbur looked down at Dream’s hand. His eyebrows drew together in a scowl. “I can’t make this kind of deal on a whim, Lord Dream. You know that.” He stood up straighter. “This will need to be discussed a lot more. L’Manberg needs help, but you have to understand my weariness.”

“Okay. Who are you going to discuss it with?” He gestured to Tommy. “A child? No offense, Innit.”

Tommy put his hands on his hips. “If we didn’t need your help, I would have already been causing problems with you on purpose.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Anyways, you need my help whether you’re willing to admit it now or not. No matter your choice, I will either be staying here to watch over your well-being or I’ll be sending another to do the job in my absence without your input. This situation is fragile. You’re fragile. Weigh your options and realize the true threat here, President. Because for once, I can promise you in earnest that it isn’t me.”

“Then sit with me and discuss terms,  _ sir _ .” Wilbur spoke through gritted teeth. “I will not blindly sign my country away.”

“Then sit!” Dream pointed to the table.

They did. And Dream wasted no time in filling the air with his words before Wilbur could get a word out. 

“Number one.” He held up a finger. “Our goal is to defeat Schlatt and punish him rightfully as he deserves. Nothing beyond that. No strings attached. We work together and combine our forces to remove Schlatt from office once and for all.”

“That one is easy enough.” Wilbur said.

“Two.” A second finger rose. “After we take down Schlatt, the treaties remain as they were. L’Manberg’s walls remain as they are, any expansions have to go directly through me, and all news of presidential elections and their results from here on out will be reported to me immediately.”

Tommy scoffed quietly. “Put more rules on us while you’re at it. What’s next, a curfew?”

“If you act up.” Dream said.

“Next point, please.” Wilbur hissed.

Dream glared at him. “And three.” A third finger went up. “All of our plans will be made in tandem. No meetings will be held before our attack on Schlatt without my presence. I am to know every detail and every whisper that happens pertaining to this mission. You two are the backbone of this mission, but I am the leader.” Dream put down his hand. “Other than that, there are no strings or loopholes attached. You will both get to lead L’Manberg as if the election never happened. Life will go on for you two and all of your citizens. Do those terms satisfy you, Wilbur?”

“If you are coming in to aid me - unprompted, I might add - then I expect more respect than being your war dog. My country is independent. Which means you should be reporting to me.” Wilbur’s voice was low. But his desperation was slipping out through his quiet rage. “I am the President. You are not my king. I don’t hail to you.”

Dream’s expression flattened. “Remember who’s land you stole from.”

Wilbur leaned forward. “Remember the blood you spilled just to lose that land.”

“Remember how easily I can take that land back.” Dream cried. The room fell silent. Tommy gripped the end of Wilbur’s shirt. After a long pause, Dream sat up straight. He extended his hand, silently insisting for Wilbur to shake it. “Now, do we have a deal?”

Wilbur inhaled sharply. His eyes were brewing with a discontent storm. But then he reached out, and took Dream’s hand. He squeezed tightly and leaned in, the shadows on his face from the fire curving in threatening ways. “For L’Manberg.”

Dream shook it. “For the safety of the realm.”

The silence made Tommy impatient. He lacked hesitation as he clapped his hands together loudly, yelling from behind Wilbur as he stood up. “Yeah! War buddies! Enemies to allies! I couldn’t agree more.” He ceased his applause, placing his hands on his hips. “So! Dream. Lord Dream! What's our plan, big man? Big D, if you will? Actually, no, I take that back, you’re just a big man. The  _ biggest  _ man.”

Dream glanced over to Tommy in irritated recognition, then to Wilbur. “Well, Mr. President, care to hold a meeting?”

“Aren’t we already?” Wilbur said.

“Oh, no. Not yet. We’re missing someone.” Dream said.

“Who?” Tommy frowned.

A smirk started to crawl over Dream’s face. Odd satisfaction dripped from each word he spoke. “I think we need to call The Blade.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every day, I pity myself over the fact that this could easily end up 50+ chapters


	6. Chapter Six: Full Hands For The Innocents

**Aux Innocents Les Mains Pleines**

_ Full Hands For The Innocents _

“Your letter had a few spelling errors, Lord Dream. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a trap.” Technoblade slid off his stallion, the white-as-snow fur on his broad shoulders contrasting with his blood red velvet cape. When he landed on the soft earth, his heels pierced the ground and struggled to keep him afloat. His snout twitched in the warm late-summer breeze.

“I’m glad to learn how well you know me.” Dream stood with his hands on his hips. 

“Is that him? I’ve never seen him in person before!” A voice called from inside a large green tent. It was behind Dream, about ten meters so, and Technoblade’s sallow piglin eyes lifted to gaze at it.

“Is that the kid?” Techoblade raised an eyebrow. “You know I hate kids.”

Dream chuckled. “He’s mature for his age.” 

“War does that.” Technoblade grabbed his horse's lead and tied it to a nearby sweet birch tree. “Speaking of war…” He turned and looked right through Dream’s mask, right into his lovely green eyes. “I’m not getting my kingdom involved in one. I know that’s your favorite pastime, but it’s not mine.”

“I know.” Dream said. “Trust me, I know.”

“Then I’m glad to learn how well  _ you  _ know  _ me.” _ He paused for a moment, motioning at the tent. “Well. Let’s get the worst part out of the way.”

They wasted no time getting to work. Royals are taught from a young age that time is power. And they were taught that time was also the difference between a victory or a loss. It was also the first occasion in history that such a mix of cultures and countries were all in one spot - so there was no room to keep history waiting.

The Lord sat back in his flimsy log chair. On his left sat the King of Sus, and across from them sat the fallen leader, and on his right sat the child prodigy. The child grew restless in his seat, eager to get their plans rolling as quickly as possible. He was eager both from his own excitement and from the fact that a shadow was living in his mind. 

The shadow was pushing one thought only: Tommy hadn’t spoken to Tubbo in days. That hadn’t happened since before they first met.

"Alright, men, humor me. How are we going to start this shit off? Are we building an army? Oh, that would be cool! A huge army at our - no. Not  _ our _ . _ My _ command. Yeah, that sounds like a great start to our plans! Right, Will?"

Wilbur’s eyes didn’t falter. They stared straight at Technoblade, straight at Dream, with no wavering or pause. He wasn’t exactly pleased. He wasn’t angry, or despondent. But he wasn’t pleased. And it showed. 

“Tommy.” He said. “We aren’t ‘building an army’.”

“No, you’re borrowing one. That’s significantly less climatic.” Technoblade droned.

"Do I get to lead the army? Say yes." Tommy demanded.

Dream shook his head from across the way. "I don't think a child should lead an army. No offense, Tommy.”

Tommy slammed his palms on the table. "Watch yourself, friend, that's no way to talk to a man who's about to command an entire army!"

“I own horses older than you. You aren’t leading anything, kid.” Technoblade said. 

Wilbur nodded. “They’re right, Tommy. It isn’t safe.”

Tommy deflated in his seat, sliding down until just his head could be seen over the edge of the table. "I've been through a whole war and I still don't get any respect. Just goes to show how the government always steps on the little guys, yeah?"

“Tommy, we are the little guys! Like, our whole country is!” Wilbur was exasperated. 

Technoblade shifted in his seat. “I don’t know, the kid has a point.”

“Don’t encourage him!” Wilbur cried and jabbed a finger in the piglin’s direction.

Tommy leaned over the table to try to fistbump the king. “Yeah! Mr. Blade gets it!”

The king moved away. “You look sticky, please do not touch me.”

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just...dammit. People are dying!” He turned to Dream. “Can you back me up on this?”

Dream folded his arms, sighing. "President Wilbur is right, Tommy. This issue is greater than titles and playing pretend. This isn't a game."

Tommy took his fist back and sat back in his chair, pouty from the multiple disciplines at once. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Dream nodded. "Thank you." He gestured to Technoblade. "Now then, let's go over what you have to offer us, Technoblade. I'm sure whatever you and your kingdom can provide will serve useful for our cause.”

“Me.” He said. An awkward silence followed his words, and his eyes darted around the tent. “What?” 

Wilbur’s eyebrows rose. “Just you?”

“Yes. Obviously.”

Tommy blinked. “Didn't you just say you had an army?”

“I assumed Dream was bringing the army. I already made it very clear I wasn’t bringing one.”

“My bad.” Dream said under his breath.

“And you, Dream?” Wilbur asked. His stomach sank.

Dream adjusted his mask. "If I'm truthful, I have to admit that I have no idea how many men I can bring in." He said. "We're working with limited resources here. Strategy will quickly become our best friend through all of this.”

“And so what? We’re supposed to take back our land with a handful of men and our...what? And our  _ hope _ ?” Wilbur spat. “I can’t save my people on  _ hope. _ ”

"To be fair, we're already off to a good start with the people we have." Dream said.

Wilbur shook his head. “Schlatt has my army. And my weapons. And I have four people total.” 

“No, you have more than just four people. Look…” Dream gestured to Tommy. "A young, natural born leader who, through thick and thin, has survived as one of the main chess pieces through some of the greatest events of our century." He turned to Technoblade. "A swordsman who was internationally acknowledged for being the best at his art." And lastly, he turned to Wilbur. "And a president who built his nation entirely from the ground up, originating from nothing but a small cart and his desire to make a change." Dream sat up straighter in his chair. "Trust me, that isn't the end of my list of great people to have on our side. I'm sure all of my skilled allies are bound to aid us on this mission. It may not look or sound like much, but it’s a start. That’s all that matters.”

Wilbur’s fists balled up at his sides, fingerless gloves blunting the nails digging into his palms, but his face relaxed all the same. “And at the end of the day, I don’t want a war. I don’t want one single L’Manberg citizen harmed. I only want Schlatt.”

“That’s what we all want.” Technoblade said. “If that man wants to start problems, then that means he needs to finish them.”

Tommy snickered. "I don't even think the old man can finish taking his morning medication, let alone handle a war."

Dream rolled his eyes. "Schlatt doesn't play by the rules of the world. He plays by his  _ own _ rules, which means we have to give him everything we can muster if we want any chance at succeeding." He looked to Wilbur. "Even if that means starting another war.”

“I need promises from you both, then.” Wilbur pointed at Dream and Technoblade. “This is my biggest dealbreaker if you both are intend on the idea that a war is inevitable.”

“A promise of what?” Dream asked.

“Niki and Tubbo. No matter what Schlatt makes them do, no matter where they are or how they got there - they are fully pardoned.” Wilbur said. “My family stays safe.”

Dream nodded without hesitation. "Of course. We will do everything we can to protect them and keep them out of harm's way." Dream motioned to Technoblade. “After all, neither of us would be here in the first place without Niki's help. So, Tubbo, Niki, and Fundy. Your family, pardoned.”

Wilbur froze for a second. When his mind fully caught up with his mouth, he nodded. “Yes. Tubbo, Niki  _ and  _ Fundy.”

Tommy’s eyes darted between Dream and Wilbur in the awkward silence that followed.

Wilbur cleared his throat. “Good.” He said. “Schlatt could be doing anything to them. And it’s not their fault.” He paused. “Now...we should probably discuss Schlatt’s cabinet.”

Dream’s eyebrows creased. "From what I know, his cabinet consists of himself, Vice President Quackity, and...George." He huffed. "Regretfully I wasn't there long enough to survey anyone else that could potentially be within his reach."

“We’re taking them down with Schlatt, of course. They broke the democratic process that my land was built on, and I want them put away.” Wilbur said. 

“To be fair, what they did wasn’t against the rules. There wasn’t a technical law against it, yeah?” Technoblade said. “I don’t support it but I understand it.”

“They. Went. Against. The. Country.” Wilbur punctuated each word. “They supported a tyrant.”

Dream sat forward, placing his elbows on the table. "Sadly, I'm going to have to disagree with you on this.”

Wilbur cocked an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

"I know very well that there are people within Schlatt’s cabinet who are nothing but prisoners to him. These are people who are being carefully manipulated into his rule without understanding what they're getting into." Dream said. "For example, Tubbo. Tubbo is being forced by Schlatt to do and say things he very obviously has no control over. He’s just like the rest of the cabinet. However, if we're going by your first promise you made me keep, this would be contradictory with your most recent. Believe me, Wilbur, I promise Tubbo isn't the only one suffering from his manipulation. There are people that I care about who are trapped as well, and I refuse to hurt them in the crossfire.”

“I’m well aware of the people you  _ care _ about.” Wilbur spat. “But I think a child like Tubbo being used as propaganda is different than a grown, educated man giving away his votes. Don’t you think, Lord?” He narrowed his eyes. “Especially seeing that Quackity used to be engaged to Schlatt before Schlatt killed your father. And George was the lawyer that put Schlatt out of the country in the first place after that crime. Now they’re all working together? Something isn’t adding up.”

Dream's shoulders stiffened. "You haven't spoken to them personally. I can't speak for Quackity, but George...I spoke to him. He doesn't know what he’s doing, Wilbur. I can't hurt him in good conscience when Schlatt is the one pulling his strings."

“He knows what he’s doing. He started all of this.” Wilbur’s voice was deep with his anger. “He’s not a lost puppy, he’s a  _ man. _ ”

Technoblade turned to Dream. “It _ is _ a bit different. Adults versus kids and all that? I bet this child doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time,” he pointed at Tommy, “but he certainly does.” He pointed at Wilbur.

“Neither of you know George like I do.” Dream snapped. “He thinks what he’s doing is good. He’s misguided. Under no circumstances will I allow anyone to harm him. You harm him, you lose me. End of discussion.”

Silence filled the tent. Wilbur’s eyebrows were knitted together, his biting words sitting on the tip of his tongue. But Technoblade spoke before he could. “How about this. If Sir George remains passive or whatever, then he’s spared. But if he acts against us, he needs to be put down. If he’s a danger, he can’t be kept. No matter what you say, Lord Dream.”

“I’m confident he won’t act against us.” Dream sat up straight. “But if agreeing will cease this line of conversation then I will.”

“That’s fine by me.” Wilbur said. “But I’ll hold you to that. Quackity, on the other hand? We have no proof he wasn’t a part of this from the beginning. They’re too connected. Remember? Schlatt is a danger, so he is too. I want him gone.”

“Fine with me.” Dream said. “I gave him a pass by letting him stay even while getting rid of his fiance. He obviously didn’t take my generosity seriously.”

“Now, can we finally talk about how to actually take down Schlatt instead of sharing family photos?” Technoblade rolled his eyes.

"Yes, of course." Dream cleared his throat. "I'm unaware if any of you have actually known Schlatt prior to all of this election business, but I fear that his physical power has gotten stronger. Before everything, before his exile, he looked like an average man. Whatever happened to him since has left him with...more than ample physical changes. There's obviously some unseen power he got his hands on in that span of time. We need to figure out what happened to him and base our plans around that."

Tommy quirked an eyebrow. "Wait, so, like... superpowers. Are you saying Schlatt is like a superhero or something? Super...goat. Goatman. Yeah, goatman, that's the one. It’s not as cool as The Blade but it's straight to the point, yeah?"

“Less superpowers. More...demon powers. Right?” Technoblade looked at Dream. 

Wilbur shook his head. “No matter what it is, it’s  _ wrong _ . He’s a monster, outside now as well as inside.”

"I have an old friend who knows plenty about demons. We could always contact him to see if he knows exactly what Schlatt’s new abilities are or what weaknesses he has." Dream said.

"Is that, like, witch shit? Doesn't Niki know about this sort of thing as well?" Tommy asked.

“Niki doesn’t work with demons or anything of the like, as far as I’m aware.” Wilbur said. “But...I can’t say the same about Eret. Dream, if your friend doesn’t pan out, we could maybe contact him?”

"As long as there's no chance of him possibly letting Schlatt in on our plans, I see no problem with that." Dream agreed.

“Well, we can never be sure, can we?” Wilbur snarked.

Dream ignored him. "As for supplies for our mission, I happen to be close with the head General of the Dreamland Army's son. He has access to plenty of weapons, including explosives, crossbows, handhelds, anything we could need." Dream turned to Technoblade. "Speaking of, have you heard anything of Sapnap recently?"

No. Technoblade hadn’t. But many other people had.

"Sapnap, our country is going to war." Master Karl Jacobs stood on the marble stairs of the Burning Oak estate home, looking down at his betrothed who hadn't even fully exited his carriage yet.

Sapnap's mouth hung open from what he previously had prepared to say. His flirtatious comment died on his tongue as his eyebrows rose. "Oh, shit."

Karl descended the stairs, his multicolored clothing sparkling in the bright afternoon sun. He opened his arms to catch Sapnap around his waist, burying his face in his chest. "Please tell me you don't have to leave again.”

He sighed. “Karl - “

“You just got home!”

He  _ had  _ just gotten home. Sir Sapnap had just arrived from the tournament, blissfully unaware that an impending doom was chasing his heels. He was excited to see his fiance, and his fiance was happy to have his childhood love back in his arms yet again. But it was all temporary. 

Everything was temporary now.

Sapnap wrapped his arms around Karls shoulders. "I'm really sorry, babe. I know I just got back but I can't just let my homies get their shit rocked out there." He kissed the top of Karl’s hair. "Let me get in contact with Dream. If I'm not needed, I'll be back before you know it.”

"Can I go with you this time?" Karl looked up, body still pressed close against the other's. He could smell the gunpowder and mint that radiated off of Sapnap, and it made him feel at home.

Sapnap looked down at his fiance with sad eyes. "I want to let you come but I can't have you getting hurt, babe.”

"Well, what about you? I don't want you getting hurt either! Manberg declared war and I don't trust it to not get absolutely insane."

"How many years of war training do you have?" Sapnap asked, then continued without even letting Karl speak. "Exactly. I can't have you breaking a nail out there."

Karl couldn't help but laugh at that, because even though it was painful, it was also horribly true. "I just wish we didn't have to go through this again." Karl said. He reached a hand up, caressing Sapnap's cheek and running his soft thumb over his rough stubble. "Please promise me you'll come home in one piece."

Sapnap brought his hand up over Karl’s. "Hey, I've been building bombs since before I could read. And I still can’t really read! If I haven't been blown to bits by now I don't think anything could take me down."

"That's the opposite of reassurance."

"I think it's comforting."

Karl shook his head. "Let's just get inside and see what's happening. Okay? Then we can decide if it was comforting or not."

The two lovers took hands, a final innocent embrace, before walking into the estate to what could even be considered a wake - the wake honoring a deceased sense of peace that the realm might never be able to raise from the dead.

Sapnap rode out that evening, with many tears from Master Karl sending him on his way. As he arrived where Dream was with dozens of soldiers in tow, the Pogtopia name was spoken for the first time. There was a sense of hope that overlaid the camp that evening. The future seemed to brighten with the arrival of their ranks. They drank, and laughed, and all agreed that years from now, they would be telling their children the story of that night.


End file.
